Harem
by Kodukadvakch
Summary: What if Christine never came to the Opera House? What if the mistakes of the past never happened? The Phantom has yet to know the two great emotions on the brink of consuming his mind: love...and obsession. Full summary in Profile
1. Far Too Long

**Summary: **What if Christine never came to the Opera House? What if the mistakes of the past never happened? The Phantom has his sights on a new girl, and he _will not_ be denied the joys of the flesh any longer. But this time, he will win her affections the _right_ way.

**Story Description: **This story is based around a variety of different Phantom themes, including some ideas of my own. The main theme, however, being the JS movie. Madame Giry is the ballet instructor, not the woman who runs box 5. Her daughter, Meg Giry, is in the ballet but is close friends with "Little Jammes - the girl with the tip-tilted nose, the forget-me-not eyes, the rose red cheeks and the lily-white neck and shoulders" instead of Christine. Also, the Meg Giry in this story has a personality based off the movie (Curious, adventurous, gossipy) but an appearance based off of GL's "The Phantom of the Opera" book and some of my ideas. She is described as "The girl with eyes black as sloes, hair black as ink" and will, in my preferences, have fine features and pale skin stretched over a thin (but not unattractively so) body. In this story the only manager will be M. Poligny, and he will be a decent, sober man with a great fear and respect of the Phantom. I say respect because the Phantom, in return for his salary and Box 5, helps M. Poligny on many matters of the Opera Populaire with his musical genius. He (The Phantom) terrifies the workers but has become nearly a friend to the manager. Or an asset, to say the least. Because in this story, Madame Giry is not the greatest of friends to the Phantom but rather talks to him from time-to-time about the_ corps de ballet_, providing the Opera Ghost with food and supplies in exchange for his information on what her girls are up to. She, also, respects him rather than befriends him. Raoul De Chagny is of no importance in this story and, therefore, will not be mentioned. If you must know where he got off to, you can suppose he went to the Arctic Circle in search of the D'Artoi's expedition upon the _Requin_. Philippe (Raoul's older brother who was not mentioned in the movie.) will be of some importance to this story and will be described as he is in GL's book. "Philippe Georges Marie Comte de Chagny was just forty-one years of age. He was a great aristocrat and a good-looking man, above middle height and with attractive features, in spite of his hard forehead and his rather cold eyes. He was exquisitely polite to the women and a little haughty to the men, who did not always forgive him for his success in society. He had an excellent heart and an irreproachable conscience." The story is set in 1870, the same timeline as that of JS's movie.

**The Phantom's Description: **The illustrious Phantom will be played by none other than Gerry B. Yes, I spoil you guys too much. However, there are some differences. One being his eyes which, instead of that icy blue, are now bright gold. Or amber, if you prefer. He, of course, will wear the JS half mask instead of the GL mask which covers all of his face, save for his lips. I believe in SK's book "Phantom" he wore a wig, and it is also evident in JS's movie when Christine takes off his mask in _Duan Juan Triumphant_. But in this story, I have been kind enough to allow him to keep a full head of lush, jet-black hair. Though, to compensate for that, his deformations are far worse than what is shown in JS's movie. They will be described later on in the story. No one, as of yet, knows his actual name, which is Erik. I will try to refrain from calling him that throughout the story until he tells someone. I'm unsure of his date of birth, but I figure he is around early forties in the JS movie, though in GL's book he could easily be considered much older. In fact, I still speculate if GL meant for Erik to be seemingly immortal in his book. For romantic development within this story, I have aged the Phantom between 26 and 31. He is unsure of his own age. His past is that of JS's movie, having lived in the Opera Populaire all his life and gaining his knowledge on books and operas.

**Pairings and Ratings: **The pairing in this story will be E/OC (Erik/ Other Character). It will probably maintain a PG-13(T) rating throughout most of the story, but could possibly escalate to R(M) in later chapters. No promises, though.

**Authors Note: **Thank you, dear readers, for taking your time to read the above. If you skipped it, I strongly suggest you read the descriptions, because this will be a most confusing story if you don't. I would appreciate any constructive criticism, suggestions, or compliments, but please, no flames. I am currently working on another story called "Her Curse" but got the idea for this fiction while sleeping (As I think the most while dreaming, oddly enough.). Because I will now have to update and maintain 2 stories, I beg of you patience with me. I have a very busy life outside of writing which includes academics, band, orchestra, and of course music lessons. I do hope you enjoy this story, and thank you very much for taking your time to read my work.

**Disclaimer: **I own none of the original characters or ideas from JS, SK, GL, or even ALW, who are all, in my opinion, geniuses. Therefore you can be assured _I_ didn't write the masterpiece of "The Phantom of the Opera". However, the story idea and several original characters in this fiction are mine to bend and twist to my will as I see fit. Though I must humbly bow before the above-mention geniuses, for without the creation of the Phantom, I wouldn't be writing this story right now.

* * *

1

Far Too Long

So, this is how it would be for the rest of his life, the Phantom thought wryly as he lounged in his regular seat in Box 5, watching the _corps de ballet_ rehearse for the upcoming opera, _Norma_, 'suggested' by the Opera's very own Ghost. Watching life from afar but never reaching out to touch it. No, he had reached out before, but had been turned away. Knowing he would never be apart of that supposedly 'wonderful' thing called life both angered and relieved him. From afar he could see the beauty unfold before him without having to suffer the consequences of man's actions and emotions, but from afar he could not enjoy the pleasures that sometimes came with those actions.

Life was like a rose, the Ghost mused thoughtfully. It was a beautiful enough thing from a distance, enjoyable to watch as it's life unfolded before it. You need not ever touch it for fear of it's unforgiving thorns, but if you never approach it, neither can you enjoy it's scent, a scent which adds flavor to the beauty.

Before him was the very definition of life. Twisting their delicate bodies in every which way, bringing pain upon themselves to bring perfection, the little ballerinas moved with the grace and agility of gazelles. They endured the pain, the burning sensation of stretching those muscles few people realized they had, to bear fruit to the pleasure, the sheer joy of completing a complicated maneuver or of pushing your limits by jumping a little higher, a little further, a little more gracefully.

The Phantom watched their twisting bodies in a hungry fashion. He may be lost to the world of men, but he still had a man's desires. He still noted the gentle curves of their young - yet maturing - bodies. They knew it too, and most, if not all, had already discovered the joys that body could bring them. The joys they could bring upon themselves...and a man.

Snorting in a mix of disgust and envy, the Opera Ghost turned his gaze from little Jammes - a delicate, if not frail, little beauty - and snapped to that of a young girl he had never seen before. She stumbled slightly as she began the complicated steps, her body visibly tense from the attention she had grabbed by appearing on stage, but began relaxing almost immediately as she let the movements engulf her. Her face was the very picture of felicity as she lost herself in the dance. Of course, she still had much to learn, her movements timid and held-back compared to the Prima Ballerina, Sorelli, who no-doubt danced right beside the new girl to emphasize this fact.

But this girl didn't seem to mind. Her long, pale arms twirled about her body gracefully, eyes not exactly closed but misted over in concentration.

He watched her with mild amusement, intrigued that she could care so little about the world around her. That she could get lost in her art so deeply that everything around her mattered not.

The Phantom sighed.

It reminded him of...well, him.

The same feeling of euphoria washed over him every time he composed a new aria, wrote a new song, or just messed around on his organ, or piano, or violin, or Cello, or - well, you get the point.

She had great potential, he could tell. The way she moved...she was holding back, but she could do it. Just as well, if not better, than the current Prima Ballerina. He would have to check inwith Madame Giry to voice his opinion. He was also getting low on bread, so that would be a good reason to see her today.

Ah, Madame Giry. One of his few 'near-friends'. The manager being the second, though he barely understood how M. Poligny could befriend a man who demanded pay and special privileges. No matter, as long as they followed his orders, he didn't mind what they thought. As long as he had his music, all was right with the world. Well, maybe he could use a real home, a look at the morning sky every once in a while, perhaps a real job, and a new face, and a different past would surely put those nightmares to rest...

The Opera Ghost shook his head and lifted up, making sure to remain in the shadows. Music was his life, his joy, but that didn't mean he wanted other things.

To feel the warmth of the sun on a normal man's face while sitting out on the balcony of a quaint home in the country. To go into town a revered, respected man and not a monster. To have friends and acquaintances. Why, he would even endure Sunday morning church if it meant interaction with another human! To have his music published and played and loved! These were the things dreams were made of! And to feel the warmth of a woman's flesh on his own, to have her say she loved him and only him, to kiss her and hold her and protect her from everything the world might try to hurt her with! Men, he thought with a growl, didn't know how lucky they were.

He wasn't a man.

He was a monster.

A beast to be scorned and mocked, to be hated and to never know what it's like to be loved.

The Phantom looked down at the dancers below him longingly. If only they knew him for who he was, not for what he was thought to be. He was not a Ghost, a Phantom, an apparition. He was but a man. A man with every other man's desires, wants, longings.

But, no, he wasn't a man! He was an animal! He didn't deserve to love or be loved!

Watching their bodies flex and twist brought a strange heat to his body, making his insides twist and fists clench with desire.

_They_ could love

_They_ could be loved.

_They_ could show _him_ love

Besides, even an animal needed to find some kind of release.

And he had been denied the joys of the flesh for far too long.

With a swirl of his cloak, the Phantom disappeared into the darkness, seeking out Madame Giry to discuss certain...business matters with her.

**

* * *

**

**Authors Note: **It's a relatively short chapter, I know. I think that I'll make most of these chapters about this length, possibly longer. Shorter chapters are easier to write, which means more updates. Please tell me what you think!

**- Kodukadvakch**


	2. A Fate Worse Than Death

2

A Fate Worse Than Death

5 hours earlier...

With her striking black hair done up in a tight brioche, Amy Sauveur(AI-me, SAH-vee-yur) practiced through the complicated motions of the dance, twisting and turning in every which way to suitably perfect it. Alone in one of the many empty rooms of the Opera House, the young girl could lose herself in the tune resounding in her head and let her feet guide her through a world of bliss, euphoria, and enchanted majesty. A place where only she could go. A world without pain and misery, just music and movement.

Time didn't matter in this world. Because of this mindset, Amy jolted from her practice when a soft voice called her from that land of fantasy. "Amy...it's time to go on stage now," Little Jammes said from her position at the doorframe, her lithe body leaning lightly against the wood.

Stumbling slightly as she tried to come to a halt, the girl with the jet-black hair glanced over at the old grandfather clock in the corner. She had been in that room for two hours! Sighing, Amy turned to Jammes again, her piercing green eyes seeming to gaze at the ballerina's very soul, making the girl shiver.

This new girl was unlike anyone Jammes had ever met before. She was just as skilled as all the other girls in dancing, that was easy enough to discern, but she acted much more differently. This girl didn't care to hear or spread gossip, a favorite pastime amongst the _corps de ballet_, and she mostly kept to herself, writing in her notebook for most of her free time and only joining in on conversation when absolutely necessary.

And those eyes! What frightful eyes to gaze upon. The color was beautiful, a very bright green, but the darkness of her hair and the paleness of her skin brought extra accent upon those eyes. Her intimidating gazes and intense glares didn't help any.

She had come here only a few weeks ago and had already been marked as 'outsider' by Jammes' friends. Little Jammes herself had tried to befriend this girl, but Amy seemed to want to be secluded, to be left alone to write in her notebook.

It was a strange thing, indeed, for a woman to enjoy writing over gossiping. And, in these days, a strange person was considered untouchable, unreachable, and was to be tossed off to the side like any other loner. No one paid attention to her, Jammes mused sadly. Nor did Amy seem to care. But, surely it was a lonely life, not having anyone in the world to talk to!

Upon her arrival, Amy had been bombarded with questions, mostly by the curious younger girls and the suspicious Prima Ballerina, Sorelli. Amy didn't hold back anything about her life. She didn't seem to really care.

Jammes had found out that Amy was an orphan, her parents had died of old age and her older siblings had forced her to seek out a job to help maintain income. No one would take her, though. Until one night she had been offered a very large amount of money to do a very vulgar job: sell her body to a man for that night.

The girls who had, by that time, gathered around her as she related this story with an air of flippancy, gesturing with her hands wildly at appropriate times, had gasped. This thought made the young girl smile. She may be quite the recluse, but when she did decide to join the world of the living, she jumped in quite eagerly.

Eyes were wide in disbelief as she related the price the man had offered: 60,000 francs. Surely no whore was worth that much, Jammes had thought, but with a second glance at Amy she had began to believe otherwise.

The girl was tall, the tallest person in the ballet, reaching a massive five feet and eight inches. A lot of it was leg height, though. She should have been clumsy, but was far from it, probably the result of her intensive training in dance throughout her childhood. Hair black as night and straight as the green meadow grass reached to about the middle of her back, not too long and not too short. Her skin was very pale, almost unnaturally so, but she didn't look sickly and was rather radiant with a strange glow of...what was it?...contempt?

Yes, contempt would explain her very well. But, all-in-all, she was quite the striking beauty.

She had refused the man's offer for her body, telling him she was no whore, and walked off. Upon returning home she retold her story to her siblings and, angered at her stupid naivety, they had kicked her out.

After that she went to the Opera House seeking a job, and ended up in the ballet.

She was an asset, Jammes knew.

Her skills were great and her mind and body were pure.

An asset.

"Ready?" Amy spoke quietly, touching Jammes on the shoulder lightly to wake her from her reverie.

The little ballerina nodded dumbly and walked down towards the stage, Amy in her wake, gliding like a shadow directly behind her guide.

Upon arriving on stage, everyone began their warm-ups, then started the dance routine an hour or so later. Nervous at first, Amy had held back.

'Just let go,' she told herself while spinning in a perfect pirouette, her feet carrying her automatically through the steps. 'Let go and leave this place. Just let your mind wander, your body will not follow. Trust it.' And she had done this, trusting herself and her skills, and had floated off once again into her dream world.

The music played loudly, though not unbearably so, in her head and her heart, adding to the emotion she displayed in her dance.

But something broke through her concentration and held her heart in an icy grip. She felt like she were being watched, an unfamiliar darkness beginning to envelope her perfect world.

'No, no, no! This is not supposed to happen!' she thought as she felt herself stumble slightly near the end of the song. Whether her fears were tangible or figments of her imagination, she did not care. What did matter, however, was the fact that she had been afraid.

It would ruin her chances of staying in the _corps de ballet_ if she hesitated, and she _could not_ mess this up. Amy had no where else to go, this was her last chance.

When the song ended and everyone was dismissed to the dormitories, Amy walked around the halls of the Opera a little longer, still trying to get acquainted with the maze-like passageways, before retuning to her room.

When she opened the door the first thing she heard came from Sorelli who, although she had her own private room, often enjoyed telling her tall, superstitious tales to the younger members of the ballet.

"...amber eyes were as cold as ice and as hot as flame when he looked upon me."

Amy rolled her eyes and dropped onto her bed with aloud_ thump_, leaning against the wall to glance over at the small congregation gathered around the over exaggerating Prima Ballerina.

"'You dare enter the Phantom's lair' he growled, his death's head mask coming to life before my very eyes. I feared for my very life in those moments when he stood before me, his massively tall body towering over me by at least three feet! I swear, he's a giant! Not only a ghost and a skeleton, but a giant too! 'No, no, I just got lost, was all,' I had said calmly, though my heart beat twice as fast in my chest.

"'Foolish girl,' he yelled, long skeletal fingers coming out to ensnare me. 'No one sees the Phantom and lives to tell the tale!' When those cold, bony fingers grazed my arm I gave a yelp of surprise and ran off in the opposite direction. I could hear his ghostly footsteps ringing unnaturally loud behind me, and when I glanced behind I saw his burning deaths head floating in mid-air. I screamed and ran faster, and as soon as I got into the light of the hallway, looked back again to find him gone!"

The girls around her gasped in unison.

"I tell you, beware of him, the Phantom of the Opera! He's a monster, a murderer! He'll kill you, and me, too, if I'm not careful!"

Once again Amy rolled her eyes. "Don't believe in such nonsense," she spoke, catching the attention of everyone in the room with her bold words. Sorelli gave her an icy glare, dark blue eyes slitting dangerously.

"You have never seen him. And if you say such things, he will come and kill you. Or..."

A wicked smile broke out across the ballerina's face as she continued to glare down Amy. Tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, Amy stared back with equally cold green eyes, though her gaze was much more piercing.

"Or what?" interrupted an overly curious little girl by the name of Celine.

"Or," Sorelli continued, still looking at Amy. "You will be subject to a fate far worse than death."

Gasps sounded around the room and terrified faces glanced at one another as if to confirm what they heard was true.

The Prima Ballerina jumped up swiftly and stalked over towards Amy, her gate slow and menacing - the gate of a predator cornering it's prey.

"So many young girls from the _corps de ballet_ have gone missing. Why? Previous managers have blamed it on accident, coincidence, _anything_ but the truth."

She reached Amy's little cot and sat down at the end of it, the other girls coming to rest on the floor around her.

"The truth is: The Opera Ghost. What could be worse than death, you ask? I'll tell you! The Phantom may be a ghost, but he can have a man's desires when he so pleases. And when this happens, he steals away one of the many available girls to appease his appetite. For once, though, it is not an appetite for blood. He thirsts for a woman's pleasures, drinks it up, then throws away the cup.

"So, what is worse than death?" At this the girl looked pointedly at Amy, grinned maliciously. "Becoming the Phantom's whore!"

More resounding gasps echoed through the room as Sorelli and Amy held each other's eyes for longer than either intended. It was a challenging stare, one neither planned on backing out of.

Finally Amy smiled. "How silly," she said in a friendly manner. _Too_ friendly.

"Only a child, a baby, would believe in such tall tales. Why, what's next? The boogieman?"

Laughing it off, the girl buried herself under the covers of her cot and yawned loudly. "Goodnight!" she said, then turned her back on the lot of them.


	3. His Empire

3

His Empire

"What!" Madame Giry stared at the towering shadow before her with wide eyes. "Monsieur, I-I..."

The Phantom, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, turned his mischievous amber gaze to the ballet instructor before him. No words were spoken for a few moments, and when the Madame grew tired of waiting for his response, she took a deep breath and continued.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice hesitating as the Ghost took a few steps towards her, his arms still crossed and a menacing scowl set across his features.

"I just can't do what you ask of me. These girls...I think of them as my children. I...just..."

She was silenced by a wave of the Phantom's elegant hand. "Nonsense," was all he said before turning his back on her to stride over towards the fire. He leaned towards it, the reflection of the flames glinting off of his eyes, giving that already unnatural gaze an unearthly look.

"You _can_ do it, you just don't _want _to. There is a difference between the two, Madame. And I'm not asking, I'm _demanding_."

"Please, Monsieur, what you a-..._demand_...is too much."

"Why?" The Opera Ghost growled angrily, fist slamming against the wall and making Madame Giry flinch.

"I will not sacrifice these girls for your...pleasure. They are innocent young ladies, Monsieur! I will not throw their lives away."

The Phantom chuckled softly while turning around, his strange-colored eyes boring into her very soul.

"Innocent!" His laugh grew louder before breaking off and fading into silence; a very awkward silence indeed. "They are not as innocent as you believe. Why, I highly doubt if there is _one _among them who hasn't already slept with a man! Innocent my a-"

"I understand," the ballet instructor broke him off before he could finish his vulgar statement. "But still..."

With an exasperated sigh, the Phantom closed the distance between him and the Madame, his impressive form engulfing her in darkness. Yes, darkness and a mask of white. But the light that mask gave off was very cold.

"There is nothing to consider, Madame. You will help me or you will not. But know this: I _always_ get my way, and I_ will_ have my night of pleasure, whether you aid my cause or whether I have to resort to kidnap and murder. Though, it would be less trouble if you would just agree to my demands. And if you are kind enough, I just might spare your daughter from this disgrace."

Madame Giry's face went pale at the mention little Meg. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I would, and if you keep this up I _will_. She is quite the beauty, I must admit, though a little frail for my tastes. But she would do just fine, I believe."

"How could you do something like this!" Tears were filling her eyes, threatening to spill over at the thought of her Meg, entwined in loves duet with this monster.

Another dark chuckle from the Opera Ghost brought up a dangerous rage - and, admittedly, fear - in the pit of her stomach.

"It's actually quite simple, really. I think of the Opera House as a sort of...empire. And I am the emperor. You and dear Monsieur Poligny are...shall we say, my trusted advisors. The petty stagehands and workers are my servants, there to do my bidding and bend and twist to my will. So that leaves the _corps de ballet_, which I consider a sort of...harem, so to speak. I have the right and the will to do as I please, Madame, and _no one_ will stop me."

Madame Giry stared intently at the fire, as if it held all the answers to her problems. _How ironic_, she thought as she mused over everything the Phantom had asked of her.

The moonlight shone brilliantly through the glass paned windows, casting dancing shadows all across Madame Giry's living room. So many illusions, both fanciful and frightening, so different from one another, yet so very alike. They danced across the carpeted floor, not a care in the world. Monster paired with Angel, Beauty paired with Beast, Jester with King, Queen with Peasant. Yes, the world of shadows was a strange world indeed. But a beautiful world, nonetheless.

How odd, that beauty could be so closely related to the feared, the unknown. For, truly, beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

Beauty could be said of someone's outer appearance by most, yet the select few could scoff at the idea, there tastes being completely different from that of others. Some might say one has a beautiful soul, yet the majority of society would not care enough to look and would just assume the handsomeness of one's soul to the handsomeness of one's face.

Ah, yes, a face. The face, some have said, defines the man. For your emotions are most shown on your face, and how you react to someone or something is a mirror to who you are inside. Because even if you wear that cool facade when in company, it is said you are insecure for having to hide your true emotions behind a mask.

A mask.

A chill went down the Madame's spine as that gleaming white mask she had been expecting materialized before her very eyes. At first it seemed to hover on it's own, but as it floated closer you could see it was attached to a tall, menacing shadow. Then the Phantom stepped out into the moonlight and his dark, hard features were basked in an eerie glow.

After all these years, she had yet to get used to that look.

And was it really her fault? How could one truly get used to the presence of a ghost? Perhaps he really was a man, like he so looked, yet he still held the air of something other-worldly and that was reason enough to fear him.

And fear him she did, especially now as he stood before her, a thoughtful yet somehow evilly mischievous look glinting in those strange amber eyes of his.

She held out the basket clutched in her hands to him, the contents that of bread, cheese, fruit, and some wine. The usual supplies he asked for.

But as he took it, he set it down on a chair towards his right and turned his attention to the woman in front of him.

Madame Giry was shocked, to say the least. He had never bothered to speak to her much, and now he seemed to be giving her his full attention.

"Madame," he said elegantly with a nod of his head. Giry just looked at him, nodding slightly in return.

"Yes...?" she said after he didn't reply.

"There is something I would like you to do for me."

Completely confused and taken aback, the ballet instructor murmured a soft "Yes?" and lowered her eyes to the carpet, her whole mind attentive to what he would say.

"I would like you to gather your ballet rats and take them to the stage tonight at midnight."

Now that was unexpected!

"Might I ask why?" She said, straining with every fiber of her being against breaking out and bombarding him with questions.

"You may. I wish to meet them."

Eyes wide, Giry questioned him again. "What?"

The Phantom chuckled softly. "They have been quite...naughty as they have matured into women. I wish to...teach them that such a thing is wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm taking one down to my lair and am going to have her show me what I have been denied for so long: the joys of the flesh. And if she is good I just might do it again. Tonight I plan on doing it, and tonight I wish to choose one of them. Besides, it's about time they, too, paid their salary to the Opera Ghost."

_Yes_, Madame Giry thought, gazing at the dying embers. How ironic that those fading flames should resemble her soul at that very moment. What she had to do was killing her inside. But she must protect Meg.

"Tonight, at midnight," she said softly, almost inaudibly.

Nodding, the Phantom turned around and pressed a secret compartment on the ballet instructor's wall to reveal a gaping black passage. "You have two hours." With a swirl of his cloak, he was gone.


	4. The Phantom and the Harem

**Authors Note: **Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews, everyone! I'm so glad you think this story has potential! Admittedly, I don't intend for it to be an exceptionally long or complicated story, just something to vent my ideas into for a little while. Finally there will be some action! Enjoy!

**

* * *

**

4

The Phantom and the Harem

Little Jammes yawned and stretched, trying her hardest to stay awake or, at least, not get caught nodding off by Madame Giry.

It was midnight and all the girls of the _corps de ballet_ were lined up in a row on the main stage. All eyes were wary, all eyelids were drooping, all tempers were short, and all girls were wondering why on earth the Madame would call them together so late at night. Or, rather, so early in the morning!

Sorelli, who was in an exceptionally foul mood, tapped her foot impatiently, causing the pacing ballet instructor to look her way in annoyance. The Prima Ballerina did not stop.

"Why has she waken us up? We're not doing anything!" Sorelli pouted angrily when Giry was out of earshot, crossing her thin, cream-colored arms and flipping her dark brown hair behind her shoulders.

"Maybe she wants us to practice?" said the naive little Celine of seventeen, her large brown doe-eyes sparkling with innocence.

"Oh, don't be stupid!" Sorelli snapped, turning on the young girl who cowered before the angry woman.

"I-I...was...I..." The little girl stuttered, body visibly shaking from the intense glare the ballerina was giving her.

"Leave her alone," Amy said flippantly, twisting a lock of her thick, black hair around her finger.

"You stay out of this!"

"Girls!" Madame Giry stepped in before Sorelli, who had been advancing on Amy, could do anything.

_"Yes, calm yourselves,"_ said a voice, seemingly coming from all directions. The girls all screamed in unison and scattered, some yelling "The Opera Ghost, the Opera Ghost!" while others didn't bother to waste their breaths and just strode directly for the doors.

But upon arriving at those doors, every girl found them to be locked, and great fear welled up inside them all.

"Stop this instant!" Madame Giry yelled above the building chaos and everything became quite at once. "Good. Now come back on stage," she said calmly, and everyone obeyed, glancing wildly about for any signs of the Ghost.

"Was that the ghost?" said Kayla, a girl with light blond hair, striking blue eyes, and fair skin.

"Of course it was!" said Sorelli, turning around and looking about to recite another tale before the voice interrupted again._"No stories tonight, my Prima Ballerina. I have a more important task for my girls."_

A dark chuckle followed the strange statement, giving each girl in there a spine of ice.

_His girls?_ Amy thought, a confused look on her face. The _corps de ballet_ all huddled together, seeking comfort in each others presence, while Madame Giry stood off to one side, a solemn look upon her face.

Suddenly a dark shadow shifted from the surrounding shadows and made its way towards the congregation of girls. Frozen in fear, not a one of them dared move a muscle. And as that shadow stepped out into the light of the few flickering candles, a gasp of shock and awe resounded from the group.

It was the Opera Ghost!

"Hello mademoiselles," he said slyly, eyes slitting dangerously as he inspected each girl with a scrutinizing gaze.

"It's the Phantom of the Opera!" gasped Meg, hand clamping over her mouth as soon as the words escaped her.

The Phantom merely smiled and advanced, making the ballet rats, as a whole, step back. Growling slightly, he took another step forward, and before they could react, said "Stay," in a commanding tone which left no room for argument.

So they stayed, pleasing the Ghost very much.

After a long stretch of awkward silence, the Phantom finally spoke, his voice calm and seductive.

"I have a job for you, my little ballerinas, and I do hope you will comply." The way he said it made it obvious they had no say in whether they would "comply" or not.

"W-what is i-it?" said Celine after what seemed like an eternity of his silence.

Eyes glinting, he lunged forward, making the ballerina's scatter backward, and grabbed little Celine by the wrist.

She flinched and closed her eyes, body shaking violently as the Phantom pulled her body up against his. "I'm glad you asked," he whispered in her ear, hot breath causing goose bumps on her neck.

He released her and prowled around the girl until he was directly in front of her. Leaning forward until his amber eyes were level with her brown ones, the Phantom smirked slyly and slit his eyes.

"Too long I've lived in my underground hell, alone and in pain. Well, I think it's time I ended that, don't you?"

Celine nodded slowly, unsure of what to say, sincerely glad that the Phantom seemed please with her reaction, as his eyes lost some of their chill.

"I've heard women are a great source of pleasure..." He reached out and stroked the girl's arm with a gloved hand, causing her to shiver even more.

Straitening himself up, the Opera Ghost turned from the girl - who, at being given the chance, scurried back to the group of ballerinas as quickly as she could -, smiling to himself. All were silent for a few moments, then Soerlli spoke.

"You mean..." and she left the question unfinished.

"I want your bodies?" The Ghost said lightly, his voice holding a dark amusement. "Yes."

You could almost hear the girls widen their eyes, smell their fear, and feel their trembling bodies.

"I am no whore!" Sorelli stomped her foot down angrily and the Phantom turned around slowly.

His eyes were glinting like crazy as he gazed upon the Prima Ballerina with interest. "No?" he spoke, his voice the very picture of sarcasm. "You seemed willing enough to sell your body to that stagehand - what was his name? Oh, yes, John Luc - a few nights ago."

Her face turned beet red and she averted her eyes to the floor, glaring at the wood furiously. "How did you...!"

The Opera Ghost laughed. "The Phantom sees all, my dear. You're darkest secrets are a source of my entertainment!"

Sorelli looked up again and nearly jumped out of her skin to find him directly in front of her, mere inches away. She hadn't even heard him approach!

"But don't worry," he said silkily, reaching out a hand to place on her arm. "I like someone with experience." She shivered at both his words and his touch and jerked away, tears gathering in her eyes as she wrapped her arms tightly around her body.

"You," the Phantom said while pointing at Kayla. "Come here."

She obeyed reluctantly, her entire body quavering visibly as she stared down at the floor.

The Opera Ghost circled around her like a predator surveying his prey. He eyed her body up and down, taking note of her gentle, womanly curves and pretty features. Stepping closer to her, he lifted her chin with his fingers to look at her eyes. Ah, what striking blue eyes! This girl seemed good. Very beautiful, to say the least, and obedient, which was a good trait.

Ha! He felt like he were out looking for a dog!

"What a beauty," he mused aloud, eyes smiling as she blushed.

"How old are you?" he asked, mentally preparing a list of question he should probably ask these girls.

"Eighteen," she said softly.

"Do you have any family?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"A younger sister."

"And no one else?"

"No."

He was slightly intrigued. This girl must provide for her sibling. Interesting...she did seem strong but didn't look the responsible type.

"What is your name?"

"Kayla."

"Ah, how appropriate. Did you know your name is from the Greek 'Keylos', meaning 'beautiful'?"

"No."

She blushed again, and this time the Phantom smiled.

"Kayla, 'beautiful one', my dear, do you fear me?"

She thought for a moment, he could tell by the crease in her brow, then nodded slightly.

"Y-yes...I do."

"Of course," he said matter-of-factly. "Are you a virgin?"

Her blush deepened and she seemed to squirm under his gaze. "No," she said in the tiniest of whispers.

"Ah," was all the Opera Ghost replied, then dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Sighing, he sorted through his preferences in his mind. Surely he didn't _need_ a virgin, but he had read they were better for pleasure. And plus he didn't want to look like a fumbling fool in front of a ballet rat, as it would be his first time.

Turning to the girls in front of him, he slit his eyes. "Who is a virgin?"

There was some uncomfortable shuffling, but no one came forward.

The Phantom chuckled darkly and advanced on the group of girls. "Come now, surely not all of you are impure!"

More silence and uncomfortable shuffling, but then the congregation of girls parted and Amy stumbled out, pushed by the Prima Ballerina herself.

The girl fell into the Phantom's arms, having been thrown with such force, and just stood there limply, a little dazed as everything had happened so very fast.

The Ghost chuckled, still supporting the girl's body as he marveled inwardly at how warm she felt against him. "You mustn't be so eager, my dear. You could harm yourself."

Amy staggered backward slightly, pulling herself from his strong embrace and gazed up at his strange amber eyes. The Phantom, in return, gazed into her striking green ones, neither backing down. But, then again, there was no reason to. The stares weren't intimidating, just...curious.

Slowly the Ghost took in her features. Her luscious black hair, her pale white skin, her beautiful and soft body.

"Ah, the new girl," he said thoughtfully.

"What is your name?"

"A-Amy..." she said shakily, thoughts racing. Just a few weeks ago she had heard the stories of the Phantom and had thought it a load of rubbish. Now she was under the very Ghost's scrutinizing glare.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Amy," he said, looking intently in her eyes. "Beloved."

"W-what?" she said, completely confused and a little frightened. Hadn't she just met this man? Wasn't he supposed to be a ghost or something?

"Beloved, that's what your name means."

She couldn't help it, she just couldn't help her reaction to his words. Amy snorted, thinking about how her siblings had kicked her out because of something so petty as money. Beloved? Riiiiiight.

The Phantom raised an eyebrow, making Amy blush deeply. Sparing her further embarrassment, he moved on.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Do you have any family."

"Yes...and no."

Now _this_ was interesting.

"Do please explain."

"Well...I have two older brothers and one older sister, still alive. But, well, they kicked me out of the house because I wouldn't sell myself for money and I came here. So I don't really consider them family, but I guess they are...technically, at least."

"How sad," he said without feeling, but in truth he did feel pity for the girl. She seemed to handle it well enough, though.

He looked at her carefully, assessing the information she had given him. She seemed right. Amy seemed like a good choice.

"And you are a virgin?"

"R-right." Her stammer had come back, probably from remembering why he was here.

"Amy, my dear," the Phantom said silkily, holding out his hand for her to take. "Come with me."

She reached out her hand, but hesitated. "W-where are we going?"

"To my home."

She instantly withdrew her hand and backed away, body quavering fiercely. "You c-can't do this t-to m-me!"

"Yes, I can."

"I'll quit!"

Glaring at each other, the Phantom spoke, his words pure ice. "No, mademoiselle, I don't think you will. You see, if you quit you would have to find another job. And any job - besides one, in particular - is hard to find for a woman, especially of your age. No, you will not quit. And you _will _do as I say."

She shook more and looked ready to dart off when she took a step forward, sighing deeply. Amy grasped his hand shakily in her own and stood beside the Phantom, gazing back at the _corps de ballet_ with sad eyes.

"Good, my dear." Gripping her hand a little tighter, the Opera Ghost disappeared into the shadows, nodding at Madame Giry slightly as he left, and guiding the stumbling Amy along the many corridors below the Opera House.

She didn't let go of his hand and, in fact, held onto it tighter as they made their way through the winding tunnels. This pleased the Phantom and brought a small smile to his lips. She would do fine, just fine.


	5. A Night with the Phantom

**Authors Note: **Wow! You can imagine my surprise when I checked my e-mail today and found 9 new reviews for this story! And all (except one) were wonderful and VERY uplifting to me. It encourages me to continue, seeing as so many people enjoy this fiction. Just to say one thing to the anonymous reviewer, I'd like to say I'm sorry. Not because of what I wrote, but because of what you thought of my writing. I have no hard feelings whatsoever and, as I read those chapters I have posted so far, I can understand completely where you're coming from. A die-hard Phantom fan could really get insulted by the perverted way I seemed to have portrayed him. But know this: the story isn't over yet. As _Color Me Gray_ put it (And quite well, I might add) "And when you think about it, the man has been celebate for something like thirty years. I mean honestly, he's never even been TOUCHED OR KISSED. Poor guy. I don't think its that big a streach to think that he might have innapropriate thoughts or act on said thoughts." The goal of this story is not to make the Phantom seem like a pervert. It's supposed to show people that he is a man, just like anyone else, and has a man's desires and wants, has feelings just like any other human being and longs to be loved. With that said, I really think you will enjoy the next chapter, as it will ease your feelings on how I've portrayed the Phantom. Though, I do wish you would have waited until I posted up this chapter before reviewing. Maybe you would have gone a little easier on me?

And to all my other reviewers: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR ENCOURAGEMENT!

I wasn't planning on replying to individual reviewers, but your wonderful words completely changed my mind!

**Reviewer Replies:**

The Whisper: Thank you very much! I try hard to portray the Phantom's emotions correctly, though it's difficult at times. Especially in scenes where you _know_ he would be a jerk, but you _want_ him to be fluffy and kind. I'm glad you think I've done good so far, and I will try to continue in doing so.

Gevaisa: I'm thrilled to know I have a dedicated reader! Thank you so much!

Phantomluvr: Yes, and don't worry, he'll do it the right way. This beginning and the way they meet seriously throws a person off. But this chapter should clear up his emotions a little better. And I'm glad you're reading it, even though you like E/C better. Hopefully I can change your mind. E/OC are often filled with more angst because Erik has to forget his emotions about Christine before he can fall in love with another girl. So they usually end up being longer fics. Very good, though. But beware, some (like the 'Oh-look-at-this-girl-she-is-so-pretty-I-think-I'll-completely-forget-about-Christine-and-fall-in-love-with-her') are very bad.

RubyMoon2: Thank you so much for your encouragement! And you really should watch the JS movie! Whoever said it's bad doesn't know what they're talking about! Even if it's only to see Gerard Butler, you should watch it!

Color Me Gray: -hugs- You are officially my favorite person! You don't even know how much your thoughts meant to me! I had just read the anonymous review and was feeling pretty low, then I read yours and you just MADE MY DAY. It's wonderful to know people like my writing style. I never really thought it was anything special, until I read many other fics with POV style and vague style. I've also read some good stories that, unfortunately, could bore a person to death with paragraph after paragraph of descriptions on things I don't really care about anyways. To hear that you enjoy how I write makes me very happy indeed! What I tend to do is get inside the characters head, imagine their past and experiences, and try to figure out how they might react to a situation. Don't worry, it's not as hard as it sounds! As for reading GL's novel, I've gone through it twice, not much, admittedly. But I do keep it handy when writing my stories in hopes of giving accurate information. And also it's very helpful in "Harem" because this story deals mostly with the _corps de ballet_, and in the book it gives a few more names and descriptions than in the movie. Hugh Panero? I've never heard of him, but, then again, I've never seen the stage production of POTO. If he's better than Gerry, he has to be PRETTY hot! lol. There's a funny story behind the name meanings. I had chosen Amy's name and decided I'd look it up to see what it meant. And it meant "beloved"! I was like: Whoa! That's cool! The same thing happened with Kayla's name. I had portrayed her as beautiful and when I looked up her name it meant beautiful! I found that funny...

And yes, I am 14 years old. I guess the reason I write well is that I've loved books my whole life and have read such a variety of titles that I've gotten a taste of a lot of different styles of writing. I also enjoy writing very much and have written(or, attempted writing, anyways) a few books. The farthest I've gotten in one is...about 100 pages. Lol, and I suppose my unique way of portraying Erik is due to my age. I'm mature for my age, everyone tells me that. In fact, all my friends are upperclassmen because kids my age annoy me...they're so immature. So I can talk about passionate feelings without breaking out giggling or saying "Eww...gross!" But also, because I'm younger, I do think the idea of pointless passion is gross. I mean, come on, imagine: "I love you" "I love you to" "Wanna go sleep together now?" "Sure." But, anyways...

About betas, I'm not exactly sure what they are. From my understanding, it's a person you send a rough draft to and who proof-reads it and gives you ideas on it before you post it up. If that's so, I would LOVE for you to be my beta! I've been trying VERY hard to have good spelling and grammar, but I just can't read over the story that much all the time! It's great to know you're a fellow musician and Christian! I play piano, myself, and a few other things, but I don't like to brag. E-mail me sometime, I would love to hear from you!

**And now, on to the story!**

* * *

5

A Night with the Phantom

Her hand trembled in his as the Phantom led Amy down the dimly lit passageways of the dank underground cellars. He glanced at her often as if to remind himself this was not a dream, each time her head was bent over and she was staring at the floor in front of her.

The winding hallways were beginning to make her dizzy, but the young ballerina didn't dare look up for fear of seeing the Phantom again.

What a fool she had been!

Thinking there was no such thing as the Phantom of the Opera!

As she held this supposed ghost's hand, fear and apprehension swelled up in her chest. What was she doing? Why did she go with him? She could have quit, _should_ have quit. But now it was too late. She was to become...she gulped...the Phantom's whore.

The lights grew dimmer along the walls, making Amy shiver - but whether it was from the cold or something else was yet to be determined. Suddenly her guide took a sharp left and plunged them both into a gaping black hole in the side of the wall. The girl gasped slightly and unwittingly stepped a little closer towards the Opera Ghost, making him smile with delight, though she couldn't see it.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered in her ear and softly - if hesitantly - stroked her hair. Amy shook even more and stepped away from him, eyes wide and glaring intently at the floor, even though she couldn't see it anyways as the room was pitch black.

Something scurried across her foot, causing her to jump towards the Phantom and bury herself in his arms, shrieking slightly from surprise.

"What's the matter, my dear?" the Phantom said, trying his hardest to hold back a chuckle.

"S-something r-ran across m-my foot." Her body began to quiver and she allowed the ghost to encircle her body with his arms, as if to shield her from the dangers of this black hell.

"It's just a rat."

"H-how do you k-know?"

"I saw it."

Amy turned around to face him but found she couldn't see him. "How? It's pitch dark!"

A small chuckle came from her right and she whooped around the face it, only to jump when she felt a hand brush her arm on the left.

Suddenly two bright, amber eyes appeared right before her face, only inches from her own green ones. "This is how," he stated vaguely, then grasped Amy's hand and pulled her swiftly along.

"Watch your step," he said several minutes afterward. They had come to the top of a giant staircase which spiraled downward into darkness. Of course, the girl couldn't see this, so she continued on as if they were walking on level ground. She overstepped the first step and came flying face forward with a cry of shock.

Acting quickly, the Ghost caught her waist in his arms and pulled her back up towards him before she fell. "I said to watch your step," he growled irritably, still holding on to her. Amy nodded her head, tears brimming her eyes and body quavering something fierce.

"Y-you...saved me."

"Yes, I did," he stated flippantly, snaking an arm around her shoulder and a hand on her left arm. "Now, this time I won't let you trip," his voice was soft and slightly amused, which eased the girl's fears of him somewhat. One thing stuck out in her mind the most: He saved me.

The way down the staircase was long and slow. Near the beginning, the little ballerina was unnerved that the Opera Ghost was touching her so familiarly. Further down she became used to his gentle caresses on her arm and they didn't bother her much. When they reached the bottom, she found she was thankful for his guidance and gentleness, and stated so to him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He didn't release his hold on her shoulders or arm, even when light was spotted in the distance and, when they were bathed in the soft candlelight of so many candles, he still held on to her.

"Welcome to my home."

Amy gaped at the strange beauty before her. Hundreds of candles were lit throughout a large, cave-like room. Towards the right of the room was a hallway where she could make out a few wooden doors, leading to other rooms. On the left was a large, arching doorway covered in thick velvet fabric which led to the kitchen. Beyond that was another doorway which Amy could not see as of yet which was covered in the same fabric, leading to a dining room. And another archway went to the library beyond that.

But the room Amy stood in at the moment had her full attention. The ceiling rose up so high she could not even see the top, as darkness enshrouded it after a certain point. A couch and several large, comfy chairs were scattered around the room towards the fire which crackled warmly on the far wall. Persian rugs were strewn about, giving the otherwise gloomy cavern a warm, homely look.

The girl gasped slightly, eyes wide with wonder.

"You...live here?"

The Phantom released Amy from his embrace and strode over towards the fire, beckoning her to follow with a wave of his hand. "Yes," he said simply, gazing at the burning, lapping flames. They seemed so soft, so gentle to touch, so very warm. But they bite the hand that feeds them. Hard. The flames were reflected off of his eyes as he glanced back over to the girl in his home.

What had he been thinking? Taking an innocent girl from her life and forcing her to please him!

Maybe he really was the monster they all spoke about. A demon who takes what he pleases and destroys the rest. The Ghost sighed inaudibly and looked back over towards the ballerina. Well, it was too late to turn back now. Might as well confirm those fools suspicions and let them label him monster.

The Phantom strode over towards Amy and grasped her hand, leading her towards the hallway on the right. He pushed open the very first door they came to and goaded her inside, shutting the door behind him.

He turned to find the girl shivering again, grasping her arms in a frightened manner.

"Please," she said, those bright green eyes of hers boring into the Phantom's very soul. "Please don't make me do this."

He didn't reply and instead waved towards the room before him. "This is my room," he stated, watching as the ballerina slowly - oh so slowly! - turned around. She gasped at the sight that beheld her.

Along the walls of the room were various musical pieces, posters of operas, and architectural drawings. Other papers of the like were scattered on and around a large, ornately designed mahogany wooden desk. The walls were adorned with black velvet, making the room seem even darker than it appeared, as there were very few candles burning in it. But what caught Amy's eye was the decoration adorning the very center of the room. Lying there, lid open like a gaping, ominous mouth, was a coffin.

"W-what's t-that f-for!" she said right before clamping a hand over her mouth, wide green eyes gazing fearfully at the death symbol in front of her.

"Oh," the Phantom said coolly. "That's my bed."

"You _sleep_ in that thing?" Amy shook her head and leaned heavily against the wall.

"I am a ghost, my dear. Why does such a thing disconcert you?" The Phantom advanced on the girl, his gait that of a predator, eyes burning with a flame not exactly of fury. His voice held a mocking, sarcastic quality to it.

The ballerina tried to back away, realized she was up against a wall, and crumpled to her feet, letting the tears she had held back for so long fall while hugging her legs to her body. "But...but...I'll - _we'll_ - have to-to _sleep_ in that."

His eyes instantly filled with a strange emotion - what was it? Compassion? - and he gazed back over towards his 'bed'. No, he couldn't make her sleep there with him. One, because they wouldn't fit anyways. Two, he couldn't traumatize her in such a way. This girl had let him touch her - if hesitantly at first - without backing away or trying to hurt him.

And she was the first person who had accepted his kindness, his...love.

No, he couldn't hurt her like this! It was wrong. But still, he did not bring this girl down with him to have a nice little chat. He would not let his efforts go to waste.

Noting that Amy had stopped crying and had composed herself while he was in thought, he turned to her.

"Do you have on a corset?"

Amy gulped and shook her head. "No, I'm in my nightshift."

The Phantom took note of the soft, flowing fabric of cream and nodded. "Good."

This, however, unnerved the ballerina greatly. He was going to do it. She was actually going to be...raped...by the Phantom of the Opera!

Tears swelled in her eyes again.

The Opera Ghost walked to the far wall and began tearing down the soft velvet fabric, piling it in a corner of the room.

"What are you doing?" said Amy hesitantly.

"Making a bed. I will not have you sleeping in that horrid coffin of mine, my dear."

The girl sighed heavily, hope sparkling in her eyes.

When the bed was made - though, it would be more accurate to call it a nest - the Phantom snuffed out the candles using a trick he had learned from the magicians in the gypsy camp years ago. Amy jumped slightly and began to shake. "Are you afraid of the dark, my dear?" The voice sounded far away, but a hand was placed on her shoulder - no longer gloved - a mere instant after the words were spoken.

"N-no..." she lied, retreating backwards and yipping slightly as she brushed some fabric left hanging on the wall. Her nerves were on edge as she darted towards her right, away from the fabric which had brushed her side. But she tripped in an instant and fell into something plush and small. There was just enough room for her to lay on her back and it was slightly longer than her...

Amy shrieked as she realized she had fallen in the coffin and struggled to get out. A pair of warm hands gripped her arms and pulled her away from the horrid 'bed', holding her close in a tight embrace. "Don't be afraid of the dark..."

She shook and buried her head into the Phantom's chest, willingly taking all the comfort he gave her.

Slowly he guided her away from the accursed coffin and steered her towards a corner of the room, laying her on her back in the plush velvet covers.

Amy's eyes went wide as she realized what he was doing and she curled up into a ball, shaking slightly. "Please," she said again, very softly. "Please don't make me do this."

The Phantom lay down in the covers to her right and the girl swiftly pulled herself as far away as she could while still being on the bed.

He gazed at her back for several minutes before speaking. "Come closer." His tone was commanding yet very gentle. Amy scooted back towards him about an inch then stopped.

Sighing exasperatedly, the Opera Ghost gripped her waist with his hands and pulled her up against his body. The ballerina let out a squeal of shock and shivered in his embrace.

"Turn around."

Amy complied, afraid of what he might do if she refused. Her bright green eyes mirrored so much fear and she shook uncontrollably.

"Good, my dear," he murmured, then pulled one of the velvet covers over them. He brought it up to the girl's chin, then leaned over her slightly to tuck her in. She was confused, to say the least. Settling himself back down beside her, the Phantom brought her head to his chest and laid his chin on top of her dark curls, breathing in deeply her scent.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Amy." His words were the very definition of soft and kind. He snaked an arm around her head and began rubbing her back gentle, bringing his other hand up to her arm. She was tense at first, but visibly relaxed after a moment and sighed.

The Ghost was pleased to find she had stopped shivering. "Don't be afraid, my dear. I want to comfort you. I want to hold you. But I will not hurt you."

Amy sighed and buried her head deeper in his chest, pulling herself closer to him. Was she dreaming? Or had he really justspared her innocence?

The Phantom held onto her more tightly and kissed the top of her head. Yes, he wouldn't hurt her. He would win her affections the right way.

The ballerina closed her eyes slowly, reveling in his warmth and comfort. "Thank you," she murmured before falling into a deep sleep.

The Ghost stayed awake for a while longer, gazing upon the girl he held in his embrace. After a while he drifted off to sleep, head still buried in her dark locks.

And for once, the nightmares of his past did not haunt him.


	6. Warm Awakenings

**A/N: I am EXTREMELY sorry for the long wait. And it's not even an exceptionally long chapter, either! School started about two weeks ago, and I've already had3 tests and 4 quizes. My teachers have this odd fascination with homework, too, and they seem to enjoy dishing out a lot of it. So I've been extremely busy. I PROMISE you that it wasn't laziness preventing me from typing this up. I've had all these ideas in my head for a long time, but have just never found the time to type them out. So, please forgive me!**

**Also, I just did a quick spellcheck over this chapter, so there are bound to be some errors. And, Color Me Gray, I'm going to take you up on your offer of beta. I'll e-mail the next chapter to you as soon as I can write it out. Thank you so much for your help!**

**And to all my other reviewers, THANK YOU FOR YOUR ENCOURAGEMENT! **

* * *

6

Warm Awakenings

The sun that morning seemed to sneak up on the inhabitants of Paris. The sky was dark and cloudy at first, forecasting a high chance of rain and gloom all day. When the clouds cleared, however, that bright yellow orb seemed already halfway in the blue abyss around it. Of course, the Phantom didn't realize this. Nor did his company, the young ballerina laying in his arms in a most precarious position.

He chuckled to himself and stroked her hair lightly, marveling at how soft and silky it felt. And the smell! He could drown in the sweet scent. A mix between spring rain and blossoming pears. He had been contemplating this smell for hours and had come to the conclusion that the spring rain was probably her natural scent and blossoming pears was probably what she used in the bath. He breathed in her hair - not too deeply, though, in fear of waking her.

The Opera Ghost studied her position and nearly laughed.

The caverns under the Opera House were freezing, despite the sunny day outside. And, though it may be sunny to the rest of the world, the Phantom's world was dank and gloomy. It was _always_ dank and gloomy, and always _would be_ dank and gloomy. He was used to the cold by now. Like a creature of the night, a ghost in the darkness, he could blend with his surroundings and adapt to his environment.

But this girl wasn't the black demon like him. She was used to light, to warmth.

The awkward position Amy was unknowingly in was probably a result of the Phantom's cold home.

Some hours ago, the girl had shifted in her sleep, her body seeking warmth.

Apparently the only warmth to be found was the Opera Ghost's.

She had awoken the Phantom as she snuggled deep against him, her head buried in the crook of his arm and her arm wrapped around his torso.

What made this position strange, however, was the fact that her leg had come up and wrapped around his thigh.

The Phantom woke up, as would any person who felt such a thing, and had not fallen asleep since.

Truth be told, he had not tried.

After spending most of his life..._all_ of his life...in some dusty old cellar away from mankind, the physical contact felt nice.

For once, someone was touching him without _hitting_ him.

And he sure as heck wasn't going to stop her!

Amy yawned and stretched, her body pressing more closely up against the Phantom's. He watched her curiously as she curled up into a ball and moved towards him as closely as possible. Her heart, which was beating against his chest, seemed to be moving faster now. She was beginning to wake up.

The girl's eyes fluttered open halfway and she glanced up at the Phantom, his face a few inches from hers. Amy blinked once...twice...three times. Still the image would not go away.

The Ghost could see her eyes slowly clearing from their sleepy daze. When they were once again bright green, they widened considerably.

She gasped slightly and tried to pull away, but the Phantom's hold on her waist was unbreakable. She managed to get a few inches from him, though, and had to settle with that as it became clear she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured gently, and Amy flinched. A million thoughts ran through her mind at once. She was in a bed with a man. No, in a bed with the Phantom of the Opera. He was a murderer and could kill her if he pleased. Or..._worse_...

The ballerina averted her eyes from his mesmerizing bright amber orbs.

But he isn't hurting me, she thought desperately, trying to calm her frightened nerves._ He isn't...and he says he won't._

she thought desperately, trying to calm her frightened nerves. 

But still, the thought of being five floors underground with a madman and killer, far away from where anyone could reach and having no one who could or even would be willing to rescue you was a chilling one.

Amy began to shiver, not just from the cold that had begun to surround her tired frame.

"Are you cold?" The Phantom said gently, his grip on her waist loosening.

"Y-yes..." Amy stuttered, her gaze fixed intently on the wall behind the Opera Ghost's shoulder.

"Then come here..."

A small gasp escaped the girl's lips and she broke away from his grip, moving as far away from him as possible while still staying in the makeshift bed.

"N-no..." she stated shakily, her eyes filled with dread.

The Phantom latched onto her wrist with superhuman speed and held her firmly, preventing the ballerina from escaping the bed.

She tried to wrench free but, of course, it didn't work.

Smiling wryly, the Ghost yanked the covers completely off of her and pulled them over to him. He let go of her wrist and leaned onto his elbow.

"If you want to be warm, then you have to come to me."

Amy was frozen in place, eyes fixed on his. Slowly she began to quake, the cold enveloping her. She breathed out deeply and saw her own breath, just another reminder of how cold it was down there.

At first her eyes were hard, then after a while they turned pleading. Still the Phantom was unmoved.

Slowly - ever so slowly! - Amy inched her way towards him. Already she could feel the heat radiating off him, and it was oddly comforting.

She touched her forehead to his chest and stopped, her whole body rigid with tension.

The Ghost wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled the cover over both of them.

"Good," he stated gently and stroked her hair.

Amy found herself liking this position very much. His embrace was warm, despite all the stories of him being a skeleton and ghost, and he seemed very gentle, though she had been told he was the cruel dictator of the Opera. She inhaled deeply and sighed when she exhaled.

He smelt so good!

The men she had come into contact with at the Opera stank of sweat and beer.

But the Phantom! He carried a strange scent, something different but not unpleasant. It was like cedar wood mixed with some sweet smelling spice. Well, whatever it was, she liked it.

She was beginning to relax again when he spoke, the words vibrating through his chest and into Amy's ears.

"Are you sniffing me?"

The ballerina turned bright red and buried her head in his chest so he couldn't see. She mumbled something incoherent.

The Ghost chuckled and shook his head against her hair. "That's alright. You may smell me if I may smell you."

Amy's blush deepened, though it wasn't visible at the moment.

He lowered his face to the top of her head and breathed in deeply, one hand coming up from her waist to stroke her shoulder in a soothing manner. "You smell good, my dear."

"So do you," She mumbled, not expecting him to hear her. But he had, and he chuckled at her words. "Thank you."

She closed her eyes and tried not to think of how humiliated she felt. But it didn't work. She had been_ sniffing_ the _Phantom of the Opera_. How stupid could you get?

He didn't seem to mind, though.

Amy shook her head at her train of thought and sighed again, resigned to her awkward position: under the Opera House and in the arms of a madman murderer who smelt good.

* * *

**A/N: About the Phantom's emotions in this, the last, and a few chapters to come. He is NOT in love with her. When I say he was surprised she accepted his love from him, what I MEANT was he was surprised she accepted his touches and acts of kindness (like saving her from falling). I don't know WHAT I was thinking when I wrote that chapter, but I can definitely understand how that would confuse you guys. I am SO sorry for that! **

**His feelings for her are developing. Imagine, if you will, being beaten and rejected your whole life. Wouldn't you feel a little exhilirated and surprised when someone actually touched you with kindness? That's the point I'm shooting for when I begin to build up their relationship. I'm also thinking of a plot which will involve the whole Har- I mean, corps de ballet. But ANY suggestions or ideas from you guys would be GREATLY appreciated. In fact, if you give me an idea or suggest something, I'll force Erik to hug you! Won't that be fun?**


	7. Stories

**A/N: Wow, thanks to everyone who has reviewed! I'll promise to try and update as much as possible!**

**This chapter is dedicated to VagrantCandy for giving me the idea! You get a hug from Erik and a cookie!**

**Erik: Do I have to?**

**Me: Yes, you do. NOW HUG!**

**Erik: -hugs-**

**Me: Good.**

**Anyways, thanks to everyone! Yes, I live in Tennesse and we started school near the beginning of August. I hate school in Tennessee. School starts early, their trying to cut out a full summer break, and A's are 94-100 instead of 90-100 like most places. But, seriously, thanks for the reviews. And thanks to Color Me Gray for being my beta! **

**Oh, and one more thing. _I'm not putting up another chapter until I get at least 10 reviews._**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

7

Stories

**The night of Amy's capture...**

Trudging back into the dormitory with dazed expressions, the _corps de ballet_ tried to assess what had just happened. Sorelli sat on the edge of a cot in the center of the room, bringing full attention on her. Little Jammes folded her legs neatly under her and sat a few feet in front of the Prima Ballerina. The rest of the ballet followed her example and soon Sorelli was surrounded by the frightened young dancers.

"W-where did he t-take her?" squeaked Celine, her dark brown eyes wide in fear.

"Where he takes all of his victims..." Replied Sorelli darkly, her eyes slit dangerously and her voice low. "To his torture chamber in the dungeons!" The girl's shrieked in unison and recoiled as the older ballerina jumped out at them, arms outstretched.

Her breathing was ragged and her eyes were wide and frightening as she continued her tale. Sorelli truly had the gift of story-telling. She could bring images to life when she spoke, creating elaborate tales with her quick mind and hands that moved like fluttering birds. The girl had no trouble conjuring up the darkest, most horrifying things about the Phantom and etching them into the impressionable minds of her young audience.

"He drags them away to the darkest, deepest cellar, where his personal domain lies. No one can enter, because his black hell is guarded with hundreds of traps, just waiting to snatch up any who dare venture near his home. The devil himself has sent an army of his demons to guard his favorite subject's lair."

"But I thought the Opera Ghost was the devil," interrupted Leah, one of the youngest in the ballet at the age of fifteen, her light blonde - nearly white - hair covering half of her face and revealing only one dull grey eye.

"No, he's not," spoke Celine, turning towards her friend.

Kayla continued what Celine was voicing. "He's the - "

"Devil's _child_," broke in Sorelli with a roar, sending the girls flying backwards onto their backsides.

"Oh poor Amy!" shouted a few of the ballerina's in unison.

"Yes," said the Prima Ballerina softly. "Poor Amy indeed, for her fate is one from which nightmares are made."

"He'll drink of her cup and throw it away!" Shouted Jammes, quoting what Sorelli had spoken of earlier.

"Yes, yes!" interrupted a girl named Julie with bright, flashing eyes. "While she's tied to the bed he'll take her. He'll force himself on her and kill her when it's done with!"

Leah shook her head, voicing her opinion. "No, the Ghost will kill her before that. He'll be on her, and if he doesn't crush her, he'll bite into her neck!"

"Yes, yes! And suck her blood!" Shouted the girls in unison.

"Suck her dry like a cup, then dispose of her dead body." Said an enthusiastic girl.

"Or force her dead body to love him again," whispered another.

"No!" shouted Sorelli above the throng.

She got up and stalked around the girls slowly, her eyes fixing on each and every one of them before continuing. Her hands were clasped behind her back as she circled them like a predator surveying its prey.

"No," the older girl spoke again, now barely whispering. The little ones had to strain to hear her dark prediction.

"You are wrong. Poor Amy would be very fortunate if he were to simply kill her, but I doubt that she has Lady Luck on her side tonight. No, the Phantom of the Opera has far more evil intentions for her."

Everyone was silent, holding their breath for what was to come next.

"If she is fortunate, she will be dead before..."

The Prima Ballerina stopped short, holding everyone in suspense.

"Before she becomes pregnant with his demon child."

There was a gasp of shock and horror from everyone and even a few clamped their hands over their eyes.

"Poor, poor Amy!" Someone near the back shouted, and the whole congregation shook their heads.

"We can only pray that she will be spared that fate, and the Opera Ghost will kill her swiftly and with mercy."

There was silence.

No one spoke for a long time.

Then there was more silence.

Everyone seemed to be in shock of what had happened to them that night. Amy, the newest of the corps de ballet, had been captured by the Phantom of the Opera. She was now at the mercy of the opera's resident specter, and was more than likely being ... taken ... at that very moment.

A group shiver was issued as everyone's spines turned to ice.

"Tell us again," said Leah, her dull grey eyes staring up at Sorelli. "Tell us the story of the Phantom of the Opera."

Sorelli's eyes grew bright, and she instantly took on the air of the storyteller.

"Well, it was a dark and stormy night, as it usually is when the most horrible, gruesome things happen. And the birth of such a monster was definitely the most gruesome act of all. His mother - poor, poor, woman - was lost from history. Her name unrecorded in the fabrics of time. Why, you ask? It was because of_ him_. It would be wrong to call him _her_ child, for he wasn't _actually_ her child. She had done some bad things in her life, you see, and at that time was the perfect woman to carry his seed."

"No, this monster wasn't her child at all, though she gave birth to him. He was the devil's child. The devil needed some way to grow as strong as God. Well, he figured, God had a Son - Jesus - so why couldn't he? Well, Jesus was born from a virgin, a pure woman. So his son needed to be born from an unholy, impure woman."

"So she had him: the devil's child. When he was born he was just a skeleton with a little bit of skin stretched over his horrible frame. But he didn't have a lot of skin to spare, so it was stretched extra-thin over his face, and even then couldn't cover all of it. This woman was horrified, but something - probably the devil himself - kept her from killing the child. So she raised him as her own, gave him a mask to wear over his horrid face, a cloak to tie around his skeletal body, and a cold, dank room in her cellar to live out his days."

"When the devils child- he had not been named so was still called that - was fourteen, he grew tired of his room and demanded to be moved up to floor level. The woman would not have it, though, and locked him in the cellar. He picked the lock - a simple enough task since cunning and wickedness was born into him - and escaped from the room. The child found his mother doing impure things with another man in her room, and he killed them both with a decorative red rope lying near the curtains."

"After tasting blood once, he decided he didn't want to stop. So he kept on murdering. Men, women, children, all innocence was destroyed under his hands. When at last it seemed he was to be caught, he hid away under the Opera House. He resides there still today, haunting the theatre and the residents inside, as he was born to do."

Finishing, Sorelli stood up, clearing her throat to break the girls out of their trance. "Pray for Amy, that is all we can do. But for now I am getting some sleep. Lock the door, and try to do the same."

Striding out of the dorm gracefully, Sorelli left them to their thoughts.

The corps de ballet all fell into their designated cots, doing the only thing they could do for that strange girl: Pray.

* * *

**A/N: You probably figured out that I made up that story of the Phantom's past. I'm not saying it's what really happened, this is just what the ballet girl's think. And it does not reflect on my religion(I don'tbelieve thedevil has a son).**

**Amazingly enough, I actually have a plot idea for this story. It will probably be put into action in the next chapter or the one after that. Enjoy!**


	8. The Demon

**A/N: This chapter is rated "T" for suggestive content. Don't worry, nothing happens...yet.**

**And there are bound to be a few grammatical errors along with some spelling. I just did a quick spell check over this chapter. I wanted to get it to you guys as soon as possible.**

* * *

8

The Demon

"So..." Amy said, her face still buried in the Phantom's muscular chest, making her words sounds muffled. In those few minutes of embarrassment, the girl had woken up, and now she was getting restless. Of course, being held by the infamous Opera Ghost was definitely an experience, to say the least. She was just tired of laying around...literally.

The young ballerina could feel him smile against her head. "So what, my dear?" She knew that he knew she wanted to get up. He was just agitating her.

A slight shiver passed over Amy's body.

Agitating her or...refusing to let her go?

Something told her the latter was the truth.

Gently, the Phantom stroked her waist with his right hand and ran his other through her jet black hair.

Amy jerked away from his touch, Sorelli's story of the "Phantom's whore" racing through her mind.

But the Opera Ghost would not be denied. He growled slightly and pulled the girl up against his rigged frame. _"I did not say you could move,"_ his voice was like venom in her ear, lips grazing the tips of her earlobe.

Now the ballerina began to struggle more fiercely, like a helpless beast cornered by the hunter.

Her efforts was futile as the Phantom's vice-like grip held firm. She began to kick with her legs, but he captured them with his own, causing even more unwanted contact.

"Let...me...go...!" she yelled, continuing to fight even though she had long lost the battle.

"You need to learn some manners, dear." The Ghost captured both her wrists in one hand and used the other to stroke her waist lightly. Amy pulled away from his touch and shivered, but he would not stop.

"I am your _master_. The moment you accepted a job at the Opera Populaire, you became my slave. I _own you_, Amy, and I will do as I please with you!"

The ballerina's eyes went wide. She kicked a screamed furiously against the monster that held her. That was trying to...

A moan of longing escaped the Phantom's lips.

For a fleeting moment Amy wonder why, until she realized that in her struggle she was thrusting up against...

A sharp bite from the Ghost on her neck broke the girl from her vulgar train of thought.

Hot tears streamed down her face as she finally came to the conclusion that she could not escape.

Hearing her broken sobs, the Phantom pushed her off of himself forcefully and jumped out of the bed. His whole body was shaking and his eyes were burning with a longing Amy had seen in many a man.

"Go..." he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking with need.

When she didn't move, he yelled angrily, "Go NOW!"

Amy scrambled to her feet and rushed out the door, leaving the specter alone in his darkness once again.

**

* * *

**

The young ballerina lay curled up in a ball in one of the many large armchairs decorating a study-like room she had found. Hours had passed - or maybe it was only minutes, since there were no clocks in this accursed underground hell - since she had fled from that monster's chambers.

That monster's so-called bedroom where only a madman could feel at home.

A madman...or a dead man.

A ghost.

With his coffin - bed - adorning the center of his dark, underground grave.

And what a magnificent grave it was!

Rich tapestries hanging from the walls, painting pictures of distant fairytale lands so very contrast to the demon's pit. Great flowering gardens of bright, cheerful colors surrounded a glimmering white castle inhabited by Prince Charming himself. The very home where this valiant young hero would whisk away the distraught damsel after slaying the horrid, murderous dragon which had held her captive for so long. How fitting, that the knight in shining armor should be wed his beautiful lover while surrounded by the very fires of hell itself.

Amy could have laughed at the irony of it all.

The thick, exotic Persian rugs strewn about the room were a little darker yet of the same refined taste. Beautiful arrays of blacks, blood reds, and creams were splattered in a chaotic order that screamed of genius and madman. Chaotic order. How interesting.

Tall bookcases surrounded a fireplace on the center wall of the room. Novels of fantasy, books on architecture, old manuscripts of other languages, mathematics, science, the arts, historical references, picture books, dictionaries; all were strewn about in no particular order on the shelves.

Well, Amy thought. He seemed to be a well-read madman.

Sighing, the girl stared off into space and became lost in her own thoughts.

Thoughts of life before the Opera House.

Of when her parents were still alive and her siblings still loved her.

When they died and things took a turn for the worse.

How her remaining family had tossed her out of the streets after declining an offer to become some street whore.

Thoughts of the Opera Populaire filled her mind.

It was the closest thing she had had to a home since her parents died.

True, she had no friends. The work was hard and the pay was little. No one even seemed to notice she was alive, and those who did despised her for some odd reason. The bed she slept in was small, and her living quarters were shared with a dozen other girls, some so young and immature they were a constant annoyance.

Amy sighed. Where exactly had she been going with this?

Well, at least she had her notebook. It wasn't just a notebook, not to her. It was her ideas, her thoughts, her life. Unlike a journal, she never addressed her notebook as if it were a person. Even though it told a story of her life, it was always based around other characters. It was her thoughts, her feelings, her pain and joy, all expressed by some trusty people who she controlled.

She could manipulate the inhabitants of her notebook to do as she pleased. They could make stupid mistakes, ruin their chances for love and life, have no friends like her, and still end up with a happy ending. But only when she allowed it, of course. And since her life had yet to have a happy ending, the people of "Notebook" wouldn't have one either.

A noise behind her caught her attention and Amy turned around to find the Phantom a few inches away from her chair.

She yipped in surprise and fell out of the seat, causing a small chuckle from the monster before her.

Her eyes slit in anger and she was about to retort with a sharp answer, but held her tongue in check.

What was she thinking, reprimanding the Opera Ghost!

The girl got up and dusted herself off, keeping a close eye on the man before her and making sure to stay a safe distance away.

But, of course, he had other plans.

The Phantom took a step forward, Amy taking a step back. This continued for a while until the girl was blocked off by a lake behind her.

He took another step forward. She didn't move, unable to because of the body of water behind her.

The Ghost was very close now. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but the ballerina jerked back, saying just before she jumped into the water "Get away from me!"

She swam with all her might away from the beast behind her.

Even though the darkness before her was absolute, she pressed on.

The sound of a splash behind her tripled her efforts.

Water flooded her mouth and she kept having this annoying tendency to breath it in, causing her to splutter and spit it out, which in turned slowed her down. Muscles aching, she could feel herself being pulled under the black, inky depths. Like soft, inviting arms, the caress of the lake compelled her to embrace the darkness. The soft glow of the candlelight behind her faded into nothingness as she slipped under the surface of the water and followed the lake's beckoning call.

End the pain, it seemed to say.

No more suffering. Just peace. No more feeling. Just hollowness. Emptiness is better than what you have gone through.

But another set of arms jerked her back to the surface where Amy once again began spluttering and coughing. As her mind recovered from the numbness, the first thought that formed in the girl's mind was 'Why the heck did he have to save me. I was happy in my blind stupor.' When she could once again think clearly, more pressing issues entered her mind, such as 'I'm back in his arms. Now how do I escape?'.

She was pulled towards the candlelight which, only moments ago, seemed so dim and forbidding yet now bright and painful.

Her dark, wet hair stuck to the Phantom's chest as she leaned into his solidness and comfort. "Y-you...s-saved me," she stated, shivering slightly from the cold.

He only grunted in reply as he hoisted both their bodies back onto solid land.

The pain of seeing her jump into the lake hurt him more than she could imagine. She had embraced death, wanted it, welcomed it. She would have rather died then face him. The monster, the beast, the demon! All who have seen him, all who have known him, would rather face death than his horrid face. For just to look upon his grotesque visage was hell itself. And she hadn't even seen it yet! She hadn't even looked at his deformities! She had been told, and just to hear what that looked like was enough to convince her that death was better.

The Phantom was no man, he was a monster. No, a demon. A hell-bent demon with a face that could frighten the devil himself.

Without a word, the Ghost placed his cloak around Amy's shivering form and guided her through the underground labyrinth of his domain back up to the surface.

He feared what he might do to her if she remained with him any longer.

This girl had not been a good choice.

Oh well, he would just have to try someone else...

**

* * *

**

**A/N: Don't hate me for how Erik acted. He stopped himself, did he not? Oh, and the actual plot should be appearing in chapter 10. Now, REVIEW!**


	9. Eight and One Half

**A/N: Okay, sorry for taking such a long time, guys. I HAVE NOT ABANDONDED THIS STORY! I am just extremely busy, and have been for quite some time. Last month was competitions in band, away games, and homecoming week. I've had homework, lots and LOTS, and mid-terms are this week for me (tomorrow, actually.). I have a lot to study for, and need to bring up my grades. My muse HAS NOT died for this story, and I still have a lot of ideas. This update was mainly to tell you guys what is going on, and so you don't lose faith in me.**

**Below is what I have written so far of chapter 9. I just thought I'd stick it up to stall you...I mean, for your enjoyment...;)**

**Therefore it is dubbed chapter 8 1/2. Well, I'm off to study for mid-terms, and I do hope everyone forgives me for this long coming update.**

* * *

8 1/2

Sample

Amy stepped out from the dark passage and into the hallway, body chilling as it was still slightly damp. Small, nearly blue fingers clutched more tightly around the Phantom's cloak as she breathed out a delicate breath of air. Turning, the girl was slightly surprised to find the Opera Ghost and all traces of a secret corridor completely gone. Slightly.Her eyes drifted over the dirty, old wallpaper covering an ancient - and probably rotting - wall; piercing green orbs scanning every splintered niche, every mildewed strip, every brown and crusty flower that could have once been called 'elaborate' and 'beautiful' when the design was first put up but was now grimy and disgusting.

Her breath came out in one warm gust, visible like smoke as the cold darkness enveloped her. Amy shrugged stiffly, turned on her heel, and strode confidently towards the ballet dormatories. Of course, if one had ever observed her normal pace, you could tell she was slightly shaky and her steps were timid, as if her foot would fall through a trap door if she were to put too much pressure on the floor.

She pushed the old wooden door open - the hinges creaking and some rust from the handle rubbing off onto her hand - and blinked a few times, surprised to see mutliple gas lanterns lit and all the dancers of the _corps de ballet_, including La Sorelli, huddled arounda single lampin the center.

Sorelli, of course, sat atop a rather plain chair, higher than the rest of the girls who stared up at the "Mistress of Stories" with an awed stupor in their eyes.

Of course, Amy had walked in right in the middle of story time...


	10. Rumors and a Fight

**A/N: Hey everyone! Next chapter, hope you like! I should have more time to update, it being Fall Break and all! But I'm leaving this Thrusday out of town, so I doubt I'll be doing any updating then. Oh well, I have a few days before then, so I hope to get at least on more chapter up. Tell me what you think! This is chapter 9-10 because I had to fix the chapter numbers from having the previous one 8 1/2. In other words, I didn't want it to say "10: Chapter 9." If you understood that, then good. If not, ignore it completely.**

**No reviewer replies right now. I'm just trying to get the chapters up. Oh, and you WILL be seeing a plot here soon. I know, I know. I've said this before, but it's TRUE! I hope you'll like it! So...**

**READ, REVIEW, ENJOY!**

* * *

9-10

Rumors and a Fight

Amy stepped out from the dark passage and into the hallway, body chilling as it was still slightly damp. Small, nearly blue fingers clutched more tightly around the Phantom's cloak as she breathed out a delicate breath of air. Turning, the girl was slightly surprised to find the Opera Ghost and all traces of a secret corridor completely gone. Slightly. Her eyes drifted over the dirty, old wallpaper covering an ancient - and probably rotting - wall; piercing green orbs scanning every splintered niche, every mildewed strip, every brown and crusty flower that could have once been called 'elaborate' and 'beautiful' when the design was first put up, but was now grimy and disgusting.

Her breath came out in one warm gust, visible like smoke as the cold darkness enveloped her. Amy shrugged stiffly, turned on her heel, and strode confidently towards the ballet dormitories. Of course, if one had ever observed her normal pace, you could tell she was slightly shaky and her steps were timid, as if her foot would fall through a trap door if she were to put too much pressure on the floor.

She pushed the old wooden door open - the hinges creaking and some rust from the handle rubbing off onto her hand - and blinked a few times, surprised to see multiple gas lanterns lit and all the dancers of the _corps de ballet_, including La Sorelli, huddled around a single lamp in the center.

Sorelli, of course, sat atop a rather plain chair, higher than the rest of the girls who stared up at the "Mistress of Stories" with an awed stupor in their eyes.

Of course, Amy had walked in right in the middle of story time.

"...swore he had never seen such a thing as that. Why, even John - you know, that stagehand with the shaggy brown hair and handsome features? - vouched for him. And he is always the sensible type!"

The dozen or so girls crowded around her nodded their heads in agreement.

"Of course, I didn't believe him at first; it sounded so absurd! But, on my way towards the stage for practice, I saw them with my very own eyes! There he was, the Opera Ghost in all his frightening horror, standing in a corner of the hall, his back to me. Like black fire, his cloak lashed out around him, slapping against the wood of the wall and - to my horror - the sickly pale body of Amy! His luminescent eyes burned like fire as the poor girl struggled from- or, more than likely, lusted for, seeing as I was close enough to tell that her sinful eyes held a fire far distant from fear -his attentions."

"She couldn't have enjoyed it...could she?" cried Celine in a timid and unbelieving voice.

Sorelli glared at her angrily. "Of course she could have, the little wench! In fact, I am of the mind that she only hesitated to go with him for the sake of our emotions towards her dignity. Why, if she is not yet dead, she is probably down there right now, enjoying -"

"Ahem," Amy cleared her throat, one slender white shoulder resting lightly on the doorframe, her right leg crossed lazily over her left ankle.

"Amy!" gasped the members of the _corps de ballet_, all eyes falling on her, watching as she pushed away from the door and strode smoothly over towards her cot.

There was an awkward silence in the room for a long time, until the ring leader of the girls broke it.

Sorelli jumped up from her seat, hands clasped in front of her, and ran over to the girl with the jet black hair. "Oh, Amy! How happy I am to see you alive!" The Prima Ballerina should have left it at that, but her ignorance - mixed in with a little frustration at having her story both disrupted and disproved - made her go on. "Who would have thought the horrid ghost could be so merciful as to let you go? Ah, you probably just didn't please him as he thought you might. But, tell me, will you see a doctor soon? The sooner you get medicine to prevent your pregnancy, the better!"

Amy gave the insolent woman a look that screamed _drop dead,_ but luckily the selfish ballerina's attention had already been diverted to another person.

"Doctor? Medicine? Sorelli, my naive _little_ - " Amy had to smirk at that. She knew how much the Prima Ballerina hated being reminded of her superior height. " - friend. I'm not having a child."

"But...but..." It was the first time Sorelli had ever shown weakness towards another member of the ballet.

"But what happened, then!" cried Kayla, her eyes gleaming with the hope for another tale.

In fact, Amy noticed as she looked at each individual girl, each one had the same look in their eyes. But no stories tonight, she resolved. It was...painful, to say the least, and for once she didn't want these girls nosing around in her business. So she did the only thing she could think to do at the moment. Lie.

"Oh, I escaped. Had a terrible time of it, too!" Her voice was soft but held just a tiny note of sarcasm and bitterness. She couldn't help but let it slip through. They didn't even care that she might be mortally wounded! They only wanted another bit of gossip to spread around the next day! Like starving dogs begging for food, they whined and complained, asking for more and more and more! It was enough to drive the green-eyed woman insane!

"Simple, really," she continued, thinking fast. Oh, surely she would die for her deceit! But at the moment it didn't matter.

"When he least expected it, I slipped away from him and ran through the labyrinth underground. At some point I lost him, and I had been wandering the tunnels, trying to find my way back up ever since." There, that sounded convincing! Now to get a little shut eye...

Amy was already turning around, her back facing the corps de ballet, when she felt a small pressure on the edge of her cot and looked to find Sorelli staring at her with a sly look.

Amy hated that look.

At the moment, she just wanted to slap it right off her face.

Yes, slap it off, toss it on the floor, step on it, throw it in the dirt and pick it up again to repeat the process.

"Then what's that," said the ballerina, pointing at the velvety black cloak laying atop Amy.

Uh-oh. Time for some crafty lying. "I...had fallen in the lake while traveling down there, and when I got back to the main floor I found this cloak sitting on a chair in the hallway. Since I was wet and cold, I took it. I'll return it in the morning."

The other woman gave her a stare that said _yeah right_, and looked at the cloak again. "It has the initials "O.G." stitched on the hem."

The other girls gasped in shock and crowded around the bed, staring from the cloak to Amy, then back to the cloak again.

Burning a hole in the wall opposite hers, Amy willed the oncoming blush to die where it lay, at her neck. "...so..."

La Sorelli flung herself from Amy's side and threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, _come on_, Amy! We all know you were down there with the Phantom of the Opera! You may not want us to know you were raped, but you don't have to lie!"

Okay, that was the last straw.

Jumping from her cot, Amy stomped over towards the Prima Ballerina and pointed one long, slender finger in her face. "_I was not raped!_ **_So stop saying I was!_**" Pure hate glinted in her eyes as, in contrast, a small smirk appeared on her features at seeing the fear which flashed across her victims face.

Strange, how exhilarating it was to be in control of so much power.

That soon disappeared.

"Well," Sorelli retorted, rising on pointe to see eye-to-eye with the raging girl before her. "If you weren't raped, then why do you have such an attitude!"

"I could have you fired," she spit at Amy's face, a smirk of her own playing across her features.

"For what, decency? Well, it's more than I can say for you, friend!"

"How dare you!"

"You're one to speak of being raped, with your precious John Luc by your side. And in the hallway, too!"

"Take that back!"

"Why deny the truth?"

The ballerina lashed out, slapping Amy in the face and leaving three long gashes across her right cheek - compliments of the dancer's newly manicured nails. She had always liked them long, even if Madame Giry often disapproved.

Amy smashed her hand across the wounds, a small trickle of blood dripping through her palms. Even though the wound wasn't deep, it still tore the skin slightly, and would leave a scar - even if just a light one.

Shaking with rage, the previously bent over girl straightened up, her hand falling from her bloodied face. With nothing to stop the flow, a steady stream of red lazily made its way from the cheek down to her chin to drip off onto the stained wooden floors.

They would be stained a different color from now on.

Clenching her crimson-soaked fist, a small bit of that life-giving liquid fell from her hand and onto the floor beside the other tiny droplets.

You're dead, thought Amy without regret. The image of Sorelli's lifeless body sprawled across the floor - though disturbing her quite a bit - didn't even make her flinch.

But the unexpected happened.

"You're going to regret that," said a disembodied voice, making everyone in the room freeze. All - except for Amy, who kept her eyes on Sorelli at all times - glanced around in fear, trying to locate the source of the sound.

A flash of black and a glimpse of glowing white porcelain had all the girls scrambling to their cots in screaming terror.


	11. Don't Let the Phantom Fright

**A/N: Yay, another chapter! My muse is on overload, and if I don't release some of these ideas I'm afraid he'll blow up! Here, my faithful reviewers, is the beginning of the actual plot which I have talked about for so long! But it's just the beginning, so don't get confused or have any wild ideas. From now on I'll be talking more in depth about some individual girls in the _corps de ballet_. Now, I never said Amy was the heroine in this story. Notice the title, Harem. Harem, not "Amy". The Phantom could easily fall for any one of these girls. I started out with Amy because she was different. She caught the Phantom's eye. Now I'll be elaborating on the characteristics of the other girls who might be worthy of his attentions. Expect some more detail on Celine, Kayla, and Leah, as well as more past references for Amy. They're my favorite girls, so they'll be the ones battling for his love.**

**Another thing, I want your opinions on this. I think one of those girls should fall for the Phantom first. I'm sort of tired of the Opera Ghost obsessing over some girl then, through constant affection, finally winning her heart. Maybe it should be the other way around? Well, I want your thoughts on that. If you like it, I might try it out. If you don't, I'll drop the idea!**

**No reviewer replies at the moment. Just enjoy this fairly long chapter!**

**Oh, and I won't put up another chapter until I get 10 more reviews!**

11

Don't Let the Phantom Fright

Sorelli stood frozen to the spot, her hand still outstretched from her assault on the girl. Her mouth hung open limply and, for a split second, she glanced around the room, begging with her eyes for one of the ballerina's to come help her.

_Fat chance,_ she thought after getting a good look at the dozen or so petite bodies huddled behind their small cots for protection, as if the small beds would possibly stand as a barrier against the beast before the Prima Ballerina.

With cat-like grace, the Phantom stepped around Amy to stand in front of her, between the two quarrelling girls. His impressive frame, clad in all black except for the stark white mask adorning the right side of his face, towered over the tiny girl before him.

His long, leather-gloved fingers twitched slightly - whether from anger or impatience, Sorelli did not know, though it was probably a mix of both.

"How unladylike of you," he purred softly, golden eyes slit in anger. He took a step forward, causing the Prima Ballerina to take a step back, trapping herself up against a wall in the process.

A predatory grin spread slowly across the Ghost's features, sending an ominous shiver down his prey's spine.

Deftly he snatched up his famous Punjab Lasso from a hidden pocket in his cloak and wrapped his hands around the deadly weapon. The girls behind him gasped, having heard stories of the terrible noose from which many dead men have hung. And, having told those stories herself, the most startled, frightened gasp came from La Sorelli.

The strip of catgut lay lazily in the Phantom's hands, like a coiled up, sleeping snake - dangerous, of course, but not threatening as of yet.

With a flick of his wrist, the whistling sound of the rope flying through the air, and a small gasp that was cut off abruptly, the Ghost had caught his prey.

Sorelli reached up and helplessly began clawing at the rope, missing at times and ripping into her own neck with those long nails of hers. She didn't seem to notice, however, as she kept going, struggling helplessly for her life.

The girls in the dormitory screamed shrilly, their eyes wide with shock.

The lust for blood rose, a flame igniting in his eyes as the drums of death pounded out their rhythm. Funny, the Phantom absentmindedly thought, that the drums always seemed to grow slower and slower, fainter and fainter, just like the victims heartbeat. Ah, but what a beautiful sound they made, even just for a few moments of morbid glory! _Kill, kill, kill,_ they seemed to chant. And who was he to disobey such compelling words?

The dancer's eyes were bulging, her face turning slightly blue from lack of oxygen.

She had never looked so beautiful, the Phantom noticed with a sneer.

But something was tugging at the back of his mind. It was telling him to stop.

Stop?

Ha!

He tightened his grip a little, making sure no air passed through her lungs. Murder was a difficult art - sickening and deranged, but an art nonetheless. One could never be too careful when handling enemies.

There was that annoying noise again! Telling him to stop, and right in the middle of the process, too!

Did it have no decency? On with the show, I can't stop now!

Something tugged at his cape roughly. How annoying! Apparently that pest of a noise had a body, too.

The pulls became stronger and more frantic, seriously distracting him now. He unknowingly loosened up the rope, allowing his victim to take in a rather large breath, saving her life...

For a few more minutes, at least.

Growling with frustration, the Opera Ghost turned on the creature which dared to disrupt him.

"What?" he yelled, twirling on his heel to face a rather pale looking Amy. Her eyes were wide with fear, brimming with salty tears that she had been trying to hold back. His harsh anger at her broke the flood gates, and on came the tears. As soon as it started, it was difficult to get them to stop.

"P-please..." she sniffled, eyes downcast and hands folded in front of her. The girl's entire body was quaking with unhindered fear.

Still gripping the rope, the Phantom forced his voice to quite down. "What?" he said in a softer tone, getting Amy to look up at him.

She glanced behind him, then back up into his golden eyes. "D-don't k-kill her...please." She whispered 'please', the word hoarse on her throat.

Gripping the rope angrily, he let out a long sigh and straightened up. "As you wish," he stated coldly then, turning, flicked the punjab off of La Sorelli's neck and deftly began to coil it up again.

Stumbling over towards the nearest cot - Kayla's -, the Prima Ballerina fell onto it and took in rather large gasps of air. "You," _gasp,_ "are," _gasp_, "Phantom" _gasp_, "Opera!"

The black cloaked figure spread his arms wide, facing the girl who stared at him in wide-eyed fear, Kayla just behind her with the same look plastered over her face. "How did you ever guess?" he said sarcastically. Lowering his arms, he crossed them over his chest and leaned against the wall, punjab now tucked safely in it's pocket. "If only all my workers were such little geniuses as you," snickered the Phantom, an obvious cold disdain for the dancer before him flickering in his eyes.

Shifting his attention towards Amy, his gaze softened and his demeanor was less rigid. "I could have killed you. For interrupting like that." His voice was so emotionless, yet still it turned the _corps de ballet's_ spines to ice. Or, maybe _because_ it was void of feeling, it had that affect?

"But you didn't." Amy's tears had dried by now, but their salty trails were still burned across her cheeks, turning her face slightly red.

"No, I suppose not."

There was a long silence in the room. The dancers didn't dare to move and Amy just studied the strange man before her - for, by now, she was certain he was a man. A man with many talents.

Many, _many_ talents.

After a while, the Opera Ghost began to tense up from the attention bestowed upon him. Yet, in some odd way, he liked being looked upon. For so long he had stalked in the shadows, just some unseeable ghost. But now!

Now he was a living, breathing threat. Not some unknown writer of silly notes. Not some stupid ghost that played tricks on unsuspecting cast. He was _real_.

And he rather enjoyed being considered such.

The minutes ticked by, but nobody moved.

Amy, finally, broke the silence, though not with words.

She turned around - doing what no other person dared to do: turning her back to the Phantom of the Opera - and slowly strode over to her bed.

Whipping the black cloak that lay atop her rather thin cover off, she walked back to where she previously stood in front of the Phantom and held out her arms, fabric in hand, to the Ghost.

"Here. You will probably want this back."

All eyes were on her, and she could feel it. A small blush crawled up her neck at having just proved to the _corps de ballet_ that she had lied to them earlier.

Nearly smiling, the Phantom pushed the velvety cloak back towards her and shook his head.

"Keep it, I have plenty."

Amy nodded and pulled the cloak to her chest. Already the cold of the night was creeping into that little room. Each girl there felt it and, in turn, began to shiver. Still, they didn't dare move in the presence of the Opera Ghost.

He was about to leave when, quite suddenly, a loud _boom_ sounded outside and the sky was lit up with an eerie orange glow. The noise, though far off, was fairly loud and made everyone, including the Phantom, jump and face the window which opened out towards the noise.

"What the..." the ghost whispered. Everyone heard him, though, and turned to face him.

Sprinting towards the window, he stared out intently. His finely tuned ears could make out the distant sound of gunshots. Glowing golden eyes opened wide as realization dawned on him."No...idiots! I thought it was just a rumor..." he murmured to himself. Amy walked up beside him and peeked out the window, also. She, however, had no idea what was going on.

"What's wrong," she asked, her voice laced with apprehension.

Closing his eyes tightly shut, the Phantom exhaled loudly, remembering the rumors he had been hearing on the street the past few nights.

Apparently the poor people of Paris were angry. Angry at the rich people who had everything, yet spared nothing for them. Angry at the absurd taxes being forced onto them, and angry at the unfair treatment of their people because of social standings.

For some time now, the most secluded parts of town had been murmuring about a peasant uprising. The farmers, merchants, and general lower class society were organizing a way to overthrow the officers of Paris. Of France in general!

_It sounded like an utterly hopeless thing at the time,_ thought the Phantom with some dismay. But now it didn't seem so unbelievable.

It was still far away, but the proof was evident. The sudden spitefulness in the common folk towards the prestigious upper class. The increased crime rate. More peasants in the jails. And now, the final touch, the sound of gunshots and screams coming from the upper district of Paris, where all the noblemen and women lived.

Gritting his teeth, the Ghost turned sharply away from the window and stared at the girls around him, including Amy, who was surprisingly close.

His opera was safe - for now. But within a few weeks, he was sure some idiot would have the bright idea of trashing the high society's entertainment, aka. the Opera Populaire.

He was attached to this place. It was the closest thing he had to a home.

And he admitted, though grudgingly, he was also attached to the people inside the Opera House. Well, most of them anyways. He could care less if Signora Gudicelli got shot.

He would not allow the rest of them to be harmed, though.

"There is a peasant uprising going on," he spoke, his authoritative voice addressing the girls in the room.

A small gasp issued. How obvious.

"I believe you are safe for tonight but," he glanced back at the window. "I wouldn't risk it."

"I..." he hesitated for a moment. What was he going to do to keep these girls safe? He could stay up all night down in his lair. If there were any gunshots from above, he would easily hear them. But he probably wouldn't make it to the surface in time.

The Phantom also reasoned that he should look over the entire opera. He could easily stalk about his kingdom throughout the night, unnoticed, and would make it anywhere on time.

At least, he hoped so.

But...

He looked back at the girls and shivered inwardly. If those peasant men got ahold of them...

No, he didn't want to think about that. It hit too close to home. Yes, the _corps de ballet_ were probably under the most danger. The men could look out for themselves.

He could stay here, though he preferred not to.

"You have two choices," his cold voice rang out, breaking the silence that had fallen onto the room.

"You can either come down to the catacombs with me," Each girl's eyes went wide at this. "_Or_, I can stay up here in this room. I do not trust the filth of Paris, not ever but especially not tonight. They _will not_ have their way with _my_ dancers."

Leah, with the blonde-white hair and bright blue eyes, laughed nervously and spoke for the first time. "You've given us a lose-lose situation, no?"

The Phantom's amber eyes looked over at the source of the voice, slightly surprised at the lightness of her hair, and nodded. "Yes, I have, haven't I?

"I'm not trusting you!" shouted Sorelli, pointing one long, bony finger at the apparition.

"Ah, I see you've regained your breath," answered the ghost coldly.

"I-I d-don't want to go d-down _t-there_," stuttered Celine as she pointed towards the floor.

"Fine," answered the Phantom, his eyes upon the frightened girl now. "Then I'll stay up here."

There was another awkward silence. This was getting very annoying, thought the ghost.

"I trust him," said Amy, her eyes scanning the crowd of frightened dancers. Startled by this, the Phantom looked down at her in slight shock.

She glanced up at him, then back at the ballet dancers. "He hasn't hurt me yet, and - though Sorelli might have a reason not to - I find I can trust him."

Kayla smiled slightly and jumped out of her bed, making her way towards the girl with caution. "I-I believe you, Amy." Then, turning to the towering figure before her, she curtsied slightly, though it was obvious she was still shaken by him. "Welcome to our home, Monsieur Fantomé."

Celine and Leah walked up behind Kayla and did the same. All four girls looked over at the rest of the _corps de ballet_, but the others didn't budge.

Slowly the girls dispersed to their separate cots, sliding under the thin sheets for the meager warmth they would give. Amy sat on the edge ofher bed, watching the Phantom as he walked over towards a corner and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His bright eyes studied each girl, memorizing their faces so he could keep track of them.

This would _definitely_ be an interesting night.

Sorelli stayed in the dormitories that night, not daring to miss out on this adventure. She slept with one of the other girls in her small cot, nearly pushing the petite woman out of her bed.

Someone near the middle of the room yawned and issued their nightly 'goodnight' ritual. "Goodnight," she said dozily.

"Sleep tight," echoed Kayla with a lazy smile on her face.

"Don't let the Phantom fright!" finished Celine with a yawn of her own.

Only Leah, who glanced at the Phantom to see his reaction, caught the ghost of a smile which graced his lips.


	12. A Night with the Harem

**A/N: Hey, I'm back with another chapter! This one's kind of long so I've split it up into two parts. The next part should be coming soon. I'm still pretty busy, but marching band is over, so that frees up my weekends. Thanks to all my faithful reviewers! And if ANY of you have a suggestion or idea (or, especially, an opinion on whom the Phantom should end up liking...hehehe) PLEASE tell me!**

**With that said, here are a few reviewer replies:**

GypsyOutcast: Oh, sorry, evil Erik won't appear for at least one or two more chapters. I might add some mean-ness in a couple of these chapters, but not likely. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE evil Erik, but right now I'm trying to get a background story on some of these other girls, and for us to know about them, Erik has to ask. And I don't think evil Erik woud be very interested in their "feelings". But, don't worry, I plan on him turning menacing soon enough, and kicking some butt in later chapters :P

RubyMoon2: Lol. Well, I'm glad you like Celine. What I was trying to do is have all the girls who might fall for Erik to have majorly differing personalities. Celine is the timitd one, but that's not necessarily a disadvantage. Who knows, Erik might like being the "protector"?

VagrantCandy: Who ever said they were all French? (-evil laghter-) I'll clear up things in the next few chapters as to everyone's background. (Well, everyone IMPORTANT, at least.)

Fallen.Broken.Hidden.: Well, I hope that you'll like my characters. I'm trying my hardest to give them interesting, believable backgrounds with well-rounded personalities.

Darth-Phantom-1870: Ah, it's not hard writing an intimidating Erik, really. Just start typing when you're moody, always works for me:P. That was one of my favorites lines that I wrote in that chapter, actually. Glad you liked it.

cylobaby: Lol, I was writing this chapter before I even got your review! Want more Leah/Phantom action? You'll love this.

**Thanks to everyone for the wonderful reviews! I live off reviews, so unless you want me to die (and, more importantly, end the story) keep reviewing!**

* * *

12

A Night with the Harem

Amy leaned on the wall her cot was up against, staring intently at the sleeping dancers. Well, most of them were asleep. Leah, with the almost creepy bright blue eyes, was watching the Phantom with a somewhat curious gaze. She had always been the one who noticed things out of the _corps de ballet_. Leah had an open mind, which was probably why she wasn't disturbed by Amy's personality. Sighing gently, the girl reached under her bumpy bed and retrieved her notebook.

It was a large book filled with page upon page of empty paper. The cover was worn, the once earthy green now fading to a dull gray. The pages were thick and yellowed, sewn together by a thin strip of leather, and were nearly falling out of the book itself. It was the only thing Amy had, though, and she loved it dearly.

A worn pen was smashed in between the pages, used as a bookmark to keep her place as well as a writing tool. A hole in the rotting wall just behind her head held a small pot of precious black ink.

Dipping the rusty old pen in the jar, the girl scribbled out a few lines in the book, glancing at the people around her - including the Phantom - from time to time.

Her bright green eyes lit up, dulling only when she had to stop and think or dip the pen in ink once again.

Funny, how the longer one lives, the less one knows. The more you learn, the more you question. Idiocy would be a welcome relief to the knowledge of the world. The world has cruelties man cannot even imagine, yet they created such tortures themselves!

Yes, ignorance truly would be bliss.

But no one is that lucky. No one is spared from the cold, harsh grasp of life. Some say life is wonderful, but they are not truly living. They are trapped inside a fantasy, a fairytale. True life is far from wonderful. It is anything but!

Angie - our dear, sweet, heroine - learned these things the hard way.

Lord, how she missed America! Her home, though rotten and in shambles, was - is! - far better than the reckless streets of Parisian night.

Men - the greasy, slimy, rotting filth that plagues the Earth - crawl aimlessly through the harsh and bitter chill of the night air. Angie knows no better. Angie - dear, sweet! - is naive. Child, poor, poor child, how I weep for you! I - the author - am your soul and you are the innocence I never had!

----------------------

Leah gazed at the Phantom intently, genuinely curious as to his presence. Why was he here? What did he want with them? And, most importantly, why the sudden change of heart? Didn't he kidnap Amy just a night ago?

The stories about the ghost in front of her just didn't add up to his actions of the moment. He was frightening, yes(Leah had turned deathly pale at seeing him strangle La Sorelli.), but he wasn't as the stories described him.

His menacing black form stood stock still in the shadows, a white porcelain mask glowing in the moonlight slanting through the window, ebony cloak enveloping him in the darkness. His brow creased in concentration while his thin black eyebrows came together, nearly touching. The jaw was in a position where you could tell his teeth were clenched, and his mouth was set in a firm, thin line.

Those creepy golden eyes of his seemed to spark and flare as his mind wandered to who knew what.

The ghost had a thin, nearly lanky body, but with evident strength in his form. If you looked closely, as Leah was, you could see the smallest of lines around his eyes; whether from age or stress, she did not know.

In all respects he should have been the most frightening thing the girl had ever seen.

And yet, he wasn't.

She just couldn't explain it, but there was something about him that...

"What do you want?"

The harsh, low voice rumbled quietly, coming from the Phantom's corner.

Leah jumped and blinked furiously, shaking her head to rid herself from her train of thought. She was so preoccupied with questions that she didn't even notice the ghost had turned towards her, catching her in the act of staring at him.

Those strange golden eyes of his gave her a look that said "You idiot, of course I'd catch you," but still she tried to ignore the embarrassment.

"I...uh..."

"What?"

His words were harsh and seemed to summon tears from the girl's eyes unbidden. She bit the inside of her cheek and held her emotions in check. _Stupid girl,_ she thought to herself.

"Just...thinking..." she said in a small voice.

The Phantom made a noise of disbelief in the back of his throat and leaned against the wall, the wood creaking slightly from his weight.

"Thinking? About what? How I'm going to kill you in your sleep?"

Leah was shocked by his words and left speechless, her eyes open wide and staring at the dark form before her.

He sighed and closed his eyes, lifting his face towards the ceiling.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the ghost said carefully, sliding slowly down the wall until he was in a sitting position, back against the wall and arms atop his knees.

"You don't have to be afraid."

"I-I'm not afraid," said the blue-eyed girl shakily.

He just snorted in reply and leaned his head against the wall behind him.

"I'm _not_!" said Leah and little more strongly.

"Right," mumbled the Phantom sarcastically under his breath but just loud enough for the girl to hear.

Her brows came together as she frowned, watching the steady rise and fall of the apparition's chest. Tossing the sheet off of her,Leah threw her legs over the side of the cot and pushed herself off the bed.

"I'll show you," she said to herself while striding towards the ghost. About halfway across the room, her pace began to slow as she took in the darkness of her surroundings. Her speed had gradually decreased until she had come to a dead halt in the middle of the room, the creaking floorboards below her feet the only sound in that dreadful silence.

She could feel the eyes of some of the dancers on her back, but the most ominous eye of all was that of the Phantom's. She dared a glance at him and saw that his eyebrow was cocked and he had a defiant smirk on his lips.

Her blood began to boil and she was determined to move closer, but her feet refused.

"Scared?" he whispered smugly.

"N-no-" she began, but a gunshot in the distance cut her off, making her jump. When the sound died away she began to shake more and stared down at her feet.

"I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid," she chanted over and over again, trying to convince herself it was true.

The ghost frowned, tiring of her games, and waved a hand at her.

"Go back to your bed, girl."

A spark of stubborn anger flared in Leah's eyes as she looked up at him.

"No."

He slit his eyes at her and spoke again, his voice lower and darker.

"That is an order. Go, now."

"No!"

With a final burst of will power, Leah started off towards him again, this time not stopping for anything. She stopped, fists clenched, when she was standing directly in front of him. This time she had her own smug look on her face, as if to say "I told you so."

"Fine," the Phantom said, his calm voice more unnerving then any shout of anger. Swift as a panther, he jumped up from his seat and grabbed onto the girl's shoulders, dragging both her and himself down to the floor again.

"Then stay with me!"

He sat her down right beside him and crossed his arms over his knees, giving her a glare that said "Move and die."

She took the hint and leaned against the wood, sighing.

"I told you I wasn't afraid," she whispered slightly.

"Say that again, and I'll strangle you."

Leah shut up, not thinking him to be one to make idle threats.

For a long while she sat beside him in silence. The melodic sound of his soft breath was like a drum beat to her ears, the shots and noise from outside like the overlapping melody. The chill of the night became evident on the girl after a while, goose flesh prickling her arms and legs. As she breathed out heavily, a puff of white escaped her lips, screaming of how obviously cold it was.

The quiet grated on her nerves as she sat there and, even though she was right next to the Phantom, she had the odd feeling of being alone.

"It's cold," she whispered, trying anything to break the awkward silence that had fallen upon them.

The Opera Ghost eyed her curiously and leaned his chin on his arms.

"Good. Serves you right, you stubborn little child."

Leah huffed indignantly.

"I was only trying to prove I wasn't afraid!"

"A lot of good that did," he replied bitterly. "But the truth is, you _are_ afraid. I can feel it."

"Well, maybe you're feelings are wrong!" Her voice grew more defensive.

Fast as lightning, the ghost grabbed onto the girl's shoulder, making her "yip" in surprise. He released her almost instantly, turning his face away so she couldn't see his reaction.

"I'm never wrong," he whispered brokenly, the compliment more of a curse on his lips.

Leah cast her eyes to the floor, staring intently at a crack in the wood, trying to hold back her tears.

"Why?" Her voice was hoarse and soft at the same time, yet held a degree of innocent confusion to it.

"What?"

"W-why are you...protecting us?"

His golden eyes closed for a moment as he breathed deeply, contemplating his answer.

"Why would I leave you to fend for yourselves?"

"It-It's just that...I..." She sighed. "I just don't understand. I mean, you look so..." Her words trailed off here, having heard the stories of his deformity. She didn't know if they were true, but, then again, why else would he wear a mask?

"But you _act _so...different. People say you're evil, and I've seen it...tonight...with Sorelli..."

She glanced up to make sure she wasn't overstepping her bounds to find the Phantom watching her curiously.

"But...but _I_ feel that you're...not like that."

She sighed in frustration and ran a hand through her hair, closing her strange blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, I must sound like an idiot."

"No," he broke in before she could go on. "I don't know why I'm doing this, to tell the truth. I guess since I was never - " He almost said 'since I was never loved' but broke off, not willing to reveal too much to the girl.

"I don't want to see you getting hurt," he finished.

There was another lapse of awkward silence, which Leah broke soon after it set in.

"I'm Leah, if you didn't already know. Leah Christoph."

The Phantom nodded in reply. When it seemed that he wasn't going to answer, the girl continued.

"W-what's your name?"

He smirked and gave a small snort of amusement.

"I'm a ghost, remember? I have no name."

She had the strong urge to roll her eyes, but resisted, and instead stared at him for a few moments. The set of his jaw was strong, his teeth were clenched. Gazing up towards his face, she was startled by the thought that had entered her mind: He was quite handsome.

From her position on his left side, she couldn't see the looming white mask that adorned the right side of his face. From this view, he looked much like a normal man. A very tall, strong, mysterious "normal man".

She noticed that the edge around his eye seemed to twitch with the effort of not glancing at her. He knew she was watching, and she knew that he knew. But, for some unnamed reason, he was being stubborn and refused to look her way.

_Great,_ Leah thought._ A man of pride._

A man.

Just a man.

She shifted and jabbed him in the ribs with a finger stiff from cold, making the Opera Ghost jump slightly and latch onto her wrist.

"And _what_ was _that_!" he hissed harshly into her ear.

The girl wrenched her wrist from his grasp and looked up at his glowering eyes.

"That, monsieur, was a test, and you passed."

He continued to look at her, then slit his beautiful golden eyes and studied her face carefully.

"A test of what?"

"I was wondering if my hand would pass through your gut," Leah replied with a sardonic smirk.

Sighing in frustration, the ghost prodded her to continue with his annoyed glare.

"Well, if you talk like a man, walk like a man, and feel like a man, then, monsieur, you _must_ be a man."

Then she added, as an afterthought: "You're no ghost."

The Phantom nearly laughed, but held it in, settling for resting his head against the wooden wall instead.

"Disappointed?" he spoke almost playfully, but with a slight edge of danger, as if the question would have consequences if answered incorrectly.

Leah didn't ignore that underlying voice.

"Not if you give me your name," she said, after a moments deliberation.

"I don't remember," he answered bluntly, giving her a glance that told her to drop the subject.

Unfortunately, the young dancer didn't notice.

"Oh, come now, don't take me for a fool!"

"Leave it, mademoiselle," the ghost said darkly, his voice (and the cold of night that Leah had momentarily forgotten) causing chills to spread down the girl's frame. Still she pursued the subject.

"It's just a simple name."

"You wouldn't understand."

"I might if you told me."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Please?"

"Look," he yelled at the top of his lungs. "My mother screamed when she gave birth to me. Screamed! She was so disgusted by my deformities that she didn't even take the time to give me a proper name. My _name_ is a _SCREAM_! Err, eeek. Ereek, Erik!"

At least, that's what he said in his mind.

In reality, he only gave her a murderous glare and said "no" once more.

Leah consented and dropped the matter, her chin falling against her chest as she looked to the ground. Determination glittered in her eyes, though, and she resolved to find out his name, if it was the last thing she did.

It was late into the night, and the temperature seemed to drop at least twenty degrees. Leah's body began to chill once again, and she gripped her shoulders to keep out the cold. He teeth began to chatter against her will, and it took most of her energy to force them to stop. Now spent, she was ready to collapse onto the bed, but refused to leave the Phantom.

One, because she would never show him she was cold and, therefore, weak.

Two, she wanted, if very secretly, to be near this strange man.

"Cold?"

She nearly murmured confirmation, but bit her blue lip to hold her tongue.

"Don't be afraid," he spoke softly.

Leah was about the ask why when she felt two hands - gloved - grip onto her waist and pull her into a black, but warm, oblivion.

The Phantom settled the young ballerina in his lap, two long, strong legs towered like walls to the left and right of her, his knees level with her chin. The lower part of his legs wrapped comfortingly around her ankles, keeping her both steady and warm. He brought her head back against his chest, making her lean fully into him. Then, as they were both fairly settled, he wrapped the long, black cloak around both their bodies and rested his arms on top of hers.

The embrace might have been one of lovers, had the woman not been shaking quite as much and the man not had a distant, careless look plastered on his face.

"Warmer?" he whispered, hot breath making loose strands of her hair flutter softly.

"Mmhmm," she mumbled, the folds of the cloak laying over her lips and nose, muffling her reply.

"Good," he said, leaning his head back again.

She couldn't help what she did next. In her drowsy state, she wasn't of her own mind.

The cold had gotten to her, and this man's warmth was comforting.

The steady beat of his heart in her ear was like a hypnotic melody.

Her aching limbs screamed for revival.

Leah fell asleep in the Phantom's arms.


	13. And In the Morning

**A/N: Merry Christmas(in a few days)! Here's chapter 13! I've had it written for a while, but I've rewritten a bunch of stuff because I didn't like it. So, hope you enjoy! Oh, and I think I can reply to reviews through e-mail now, so I'll start doing that. Remember, any suggestions would be GREAT, and REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!**

**I think reviews would be a great Christmas present!**

* * *

13

And In the Morning...

Excerpt from the diary of Amy Sauveur...

Well, today is the day. Father has finally given up hope for prosperity in America and is giving in to Mother's wishes. We're moving to Paris, France, in a matter of hours.

I would say I will miss my friends, if I had any. I would say I will miss the scenery, if it were pretty. I would say I will miss the country, if it were not a filthy rat hole.

No, I won't miss this place. If anything, I will be happy to get away from all my ghosts.

I...never told father what happened that night. I didn't have the heart. I couldn't hurt him like that.

And it's taken care of, anyways. I took some medicine for my...condition, and with us leaving he'll never have to know.

I can't...I don't...I will not think about it anymore.

Ha! Writing those words brings back a flood of memories.

No, it is not raining. The splotches of water on this paper are my salty tears.

But I shall dwell on it no more!

Ah, here comes Father. I must go, but I will write again when we arrive in the city.

- Amy

P.S. I wonder if I shall have my name changed to Aimée once in France?

* * *

Birds chirped happily throughout the streets of Paris, singing their simple yet elegant songs to one another. The first streaks of dawn's golden sunlight snaked over the gray Parisian rooftops, flooding through every crack and crevice until each corner was illuminated.

A flock of sparrows glided from roof to roof, their beady little eyes gazing with intensity at the lush beauty of a park below them. Each little bird chirped greetings to one another as the new day was rising. Their gazes spanned over the deserted city, catching sight of an occasional early riser shuffling out of their homes wearily.

Spreading it's wings and feeling the cool breeze ruffle it's feather, a single sparrow launched off the tip of the Eiffel Tower and glided lazily towards Notre Dam, the rest of the flock communicating their goodbye's as it left.

The sight before the loner was breathtaking.

Jagged spires jutted off the gothic-style cathedral. Glass windows had murals of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, Gabrielle, and other biblical images painted on them.

As the sun rose higher, the bells began to toll.

Bright rays of light shot out towards the clouds, giving them a golden lining. Higher in the sky, the inky dark blue of night was slowly fading into the pale blue of day. Clouds were bright colors varying from reddish-pink to beautiful violet.

The reflection of this sunrise fused with the paintings of Notre Dam, giving the gothic building a softer, more romantic look.

It was beautiful, to say the least.

Dipping it's wings to glide down lower, the little sparrow descended towards a small outcrop of trees a little ways away from the cathedral.

It began to whistle a song, a light, airy tune filled with joy and happiness, not the slightest bit of real life's pain entering into the pure, sweet melody.

About to land in the lush, green trees, a sudden gust of wind pushed the little creature further down, onto the sidewalk below.

It jumped back up, unharmed, but ruffled it's feathers in annoyance.

A sickening smell entered it's beak, and it turned it's head towards the source. Jumping towards the lump laying on the ground, the little bird fell into a puddle of thick liquid, soaking it's plain brown feathers in the substance.

It sniffed the strange liquid, a fear caused by instinct entering it's gaze. Looking once more towards the lump, the sparrow let out a shrill squawk of terror after recognizing the face of a human a few inches away from itself.

The bird shot into the air, the harsh red color of blood forever staining it's wings.

Stepping towards the body, two young men garbed in rags and carrying a pistol each stared down at the man laying dead before them.

"Humph. A shame, really. Could've used all the help we could get."

The other man, younger than the first, whistled low and motioned for him to go over there.

"Hey, Rick, lookit this!"

A small smile crept over Rick's features as he looked down at the body of a second man, this one dressed in fine silk and expensive clothing with a decorative rapier still tied around his waist.

"'Lotta good that sword did 'em, huh?"

The younger man laughed and kicked the body, rolling it over with his foot to reveal a puddle of blood seeping out of a gash in the heart.

Both whistled at this, and gazed over at the other body dressed in rags much like their own.

"Good aim," Rick mumbled, then bent to untie the sword. "Grab what ya' can, Jon."

Jon shrugged and strode back towards the peasant's body. "Ah, I don't want their filth. You can keep it."

Chuckling, Rick nodded and finished gathering up an assortment of coins he found in the nobleman's pocket.

Then he walked over towards the other man and stood there, both looking from one body to the next, until Jon broke the silence.

A grim smile spread over his features and he laughed quietly.

"I don't see the difference between us, rich and poor. Noble blood looks just the same as peasant to me!"

With a hardy laugh, the two disappeared down the street.

* * *

Leah yawned lazily and stretched out her legs, leaning her back into the warmth behind her. 

Strange, her bed wasn't near any of the walls in the room.

And none of those walls felt quite so warm.

Opening her eyes slightly, she clamped them back shut in an instant as the sharp brightness of the dormitory penetrated her gaze.

Grumbling slightly, she tried to turn her head, but realized their was a strange weight keeping it from turning.

Trying once more, the girl's lids parted slowly, her vision blurry at first as she tried to adjust to the light.

Two black towers seemed to jut out of the ground on her left and right sides, and the cots surrounding her bed seemed taller than usual.

As her vision cleared, Leah noticed someone motioning towards her, and squinted her eyes to see who it was.

Kayla!

What did she want, though?

The bright blue eyes of that pale-faced girl were widened considerably, and she was pointing straight at Leah, golden locks tumbling all about her face as she shook her head.

Seeing perfectly now, Leah made as if to get up, but Kayla tossed her hands in the air and shook her head vigorously.

'Don't move,' she mouthed, pointing once again towards Leah.

She tried to cock her head in confusion, but once again that weight prevented her from moving.

Annoyed now, the ballerina looked over her shoulder to find the source of her immobility...

...and froze.

Her bright blue eyes stared straight ahead, and a glowing white mask stared back.

Her senses were flooded with the memory of last night.

Her daring to walk over towards the Phantom.

Them talking.

Him holding her.

He shifted slightly, and Leah straightened up, sitting stock-still in his embrace.

What would happen if he woke up?

Would he blame her for this happening?

Would he be...gentle, like he nearly was the night before?

Leah could feel him take a deep breath under her, his lips releasing the hot air onto her neck and making her shiver.

Feeling her movement, the Phantom's grip tightened around her waist.

Looking up, she noticed that Celine, too, was watching with a fearful look on her face.

Leah felt more movement behind her and squeezed her eyes shut, realizing that the Opera Ghost was finally waking up.

Two amber slits were seen first by Kayla and Celine, which widened into golden orbs. When he looked down, those orbs widened into dinner plates, then, after a few moments, turned into slits once again.

"Girl," he growled quietly, his voice strict yet somehow soothing. "Open yours eyes, I know you're awake."

Leah's eyelids snapped apart and she turned her head to face the mask just a few inches away.

"I-I'm sorry -"

He silenced her with a wave of his hand, rolling his eyes in the process.

"Get up."

He shuffled slightly and was about to lift up when a voice stopped him.

"It's the Phantom of the Opera!" shouted La Sorelli, clamping one slender hand over her mouth after the words were out.

Her eyes were widened in terror, and one hand automatically clamped over a neck full of bruises.

Sighing quietly - though Leah heard, as she was right up against him - the Opera Ghost pulled both him and the girl up to a standing position, then stalked a few steps in the screaming Prima Ballerina's direction.

"It would be wise to stay quiet while in my presence, mademoiselle. I would hate to see you getting hurt once again."

His tone of voice sent a chill up Leah's spine, and she instinctively took a step away from the source.

The Phantom took notice of this and whirled around to face her.

What he had felt last night with the girl frightened him. It wasn't love - or, at least, he didn't believe it was love, as he had never felt that feeling before - but there was something there. Kindness? Sympathy? Friendship?

Call it what you must, but it was emotion besides anger towards another human being.

He had, oddly enough, _enjoyed_ the girl's company last night. It was soothing, challenging, _different_.

He didn't want it to go away.

He wouldn't let it go away!

"You think you can sleep with me and then run off in the morning?" His gaze flickered towards Amy for a moment as he sent her a cold look.

By now the rest of the _corps de ballet_ were awake, and their eyes widened at this news.

Leah, one of them, had spent the night with the Phantom of the Opera!

"N-n-no!" the ballerina stuttered, taking another step back in fear. This was the first time she had faced the ghost's wrath, and the blood-thirsty look she saw in his eyes unnerved her quite a bit.

"Liar!" he snarled, then lunged for her, grabbing onto her wrist with an iron grip sure to leave bruises.

"Well, you cannot run away," he continued, yelling now.

He turned around, dragging Leah with him, and slit his golden eyes at everyone in the room dangerously.

"None of you can!"

"Stop this!" Amy shouted, jumping out of her cot and looked straight at the tall shadow before her. The longer she looked, the more nervous she became, so her eyes drifted towards the floor in a matter of seconds.

"We do not belong to you, Phantom. We're not your slaves. We are human beings who have feelings and emotions, and the right to leave you whenever we want to."

"You have no rights!" shouted the ghost, letting go of Leah and stepping towards Amy.

Staring at him dumbly for a moment, the black-haired girl shook her head and slit her eyes.

"We have every right, you emotionless monster!"

Golden orbs widened in surprise, then, in one swift stride, the Phantom had Amy caught in his arms, holding her against his chest as she struggled to get free.

She could feel the laughter that escaped his lips vibrating up and out his throat.

"Emotionless?" he asked with incredulity. "I feel anger..."

He paused and ran a hand slowly down her arm, causing the girl to shiver. "...and I feel lust."

"What about love?" whispered the ballerina, finally giving up her hopeless struggle.

"Never." The ghost grinned, as if that were a good thing.

In rage, Amy shouted out: "Beast! I'll bet your own mother didn't love you."

The grip on her tightened - if that were possible - and everyone could see the Phantom visibly tense up.

"_Never_ speak of my mother." His voice was the harshest any of the _corps de ballet_ had ever heard it. The haunting tone made their skin crawl.

Fear surged throughout Amy's body, but a grin spread across her features.

"Ha, I was right! She hated you, didn't she?" The girl knew her words stung, but it was her only defense at the moment, and in her panicky state she didn't have time for compassion.

The Phantom's eyes glazed over and Amy could feel him shudder at a terrible memory.

"You little beast!" she shouted, beating the boy repeatedly with a thick branch of oak wood. "I hate you, you monster! I hate you! I should have drowned you when you were a baby! I HATE YOU!"

Blood soaked through the child's thin shirt, chunks of flesh completely gone from his back.

"Stop. Please stop, mother," he begged pitifully.

The blows became harsher, more frenzied.

"Never call me that, beast! Never!"

"M-mo -"

"NO!"

"Please!"

"I should kill you now! I should kill you!"

But she didn't.

He would have rather died, though.

That night was the last time he called her mother.

It was also the last time he had ever begged.

Shutting his eyes closed, the ghost tossed Amy forward as he himself staggered back.

"Do you want to die, girl?" he said after regaining his balance. "Because you sure act like you do..."

His hand slipped under his cape and pulled out a long line of rope. He might have been bluffing, trying to frighten the girl into submission, but the strange glint in his eyes proved he was a merciless killer and that a girl - a mere girl! - would not stain his concious.

La Sorelli, out of fearful impulse, jumped back as far as she could, successfully running herself into a cot and flipping said cot onto it's side.

As if the clatter and noise she made were the cue, the Phantom flicked that thin piece of catgut and sent it sailing through the air towards Amy.

In the last seconds, though, something unexpected happened.

It surprised the Phantom.

It surprised the whole corps de ballet.

And it definantly surprised Celine.

Little Celine, the girl with light brown hair and large doe eyes; Little Celine, the fearful girl who cowered under opposition; Little Celine, the helpless girl who hid behind those stronger than herself; Little Celine grew a backbone.

Pushing Amy out of the way, Celine found herself caught by the Ghost's deadly punjab lasso.

The rope tightened instantly around her neck, but it wasn't enough to cut off her air supply.

She didn't know how long that would last, though, so she quickly spun around to face the Opera Ghost.

"P-Please, Monsieur," she said weakly, the rope slowly beginning to tighten with every breath she took. "Please d-don't h-hurt them. T-They're m-my friends."

"Foolish girl," he replied with venom, taking slow strides forward while still keeping the rope tight. "The Phantom of the Opera takes mercy on no sniveling child."

The rope tightened again, and this time Celine couldn't breath.

"Consider this justice on all the crimes you have done in the past, whore."

"I'm no whore," she whispered raspily, even that small effort burning her throat. Tears stung the edges of her eyes and, though she tried her hardest not to let them fall, they poured down her cheeks like rainwater.

"Then you are a liar, for not stepping out of line at the stage."

"I-I w-w-was s-scared..." Celine sobbed out; her last words.

"Atone for your crimes," the Ghost spoke suddenly, and the rope began to slowly loosen. "Come with..." He stopped for a moment, remembering the night with Amy. He couldn't rape a girl, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Come with me...willingly. No chains, no ropes, no bindings. Obey me without question, child, and I shall spare all of your friends."

If he wasn't forcing her, it wasn't rape, right?

"Celine, no," Amy broke in, turning to the girl trapped by the Phantom's rope.

But it was too late.

Celine had made up her mind.

"Yes..." she spoke, letting out the tiniest of sobs, and bowed her head.

Now standing directly in front of her, the Phantom lifted his punjab off her neck and coiled it around his hand.

"Good," he said, then swiftly strode over to a darkened corner of the room. He dissappeared, but his voice was still heard.

"Come," the darkness seemed to say, like a demon beckening her into hell.

Without question, the little ballerina followed, her head bowed in submission as teardrops fell from her eyes.

Withoout goodbyes, the corps de ballet watched as the girl faded into darkness, the shocked look on their faces mirroring the shock in their souls.

And just like that, Celine was gone, the only sound indicating her exit being the tiny click of one of the Ghost's many trap doors shutting.


	14. Breakdown

**A/N:** I know, I know, I know! It took me FOREVER to update. I am SOOOO sorry! Lots of things have been going on in my life, and it's just now starting to settle down a little. To top it all off, mid-terms are coming up next week for me. So, I beg your forgiveness. Beg! -begs- SEE! Am I forgiven? Do you all hate me now? -pouts- Okay, I know this chapter is really short. I've actually been working on it on and off for quite a while. I started it about a week after my last update (So, yeah. This chapter took me forever to write, despite its length.). I hope it's satisfactory. Next chapter will be more on what Celine is up to in the Phantom's lair. It will more than likely be based just around them, so expect a lot of fluff/conflict/confusion. Happy?

**Oh, and this chapter is dedicated to _RubyMoon2_**

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY!**

**(And thanks for pushing me to continue.)**

* * *

14

Breakdown

Like a tangible spirit descending on the small, frightened girl, darkness enveloped little Celine in it's chilling embrace. Nothing was heard, except for her ragged breathing. Nothing was seen, except for the small glint of a white porcelein mask. Her throat was dry and covered in purple bruises; sore from the merciless strip of catgut coiled dangerously around the ghost's hand.

"Follow me." His voice reverberated around the enclosed passageway, causing the girl the jump with fright.

"I-I can't s-see..."

A large, warm hand gripped her shoulder firmly, pulling the ballerina along the coorider as a small gasp escaped her lips at the contact.

"M-monsieur..."

"Hush," he interrupted, pulling her in several different directions. The passages hidden inside the Opera House seemed to wind in meaningless circles. These circles caused the little girl the grow dizzy, in turn causing her to clutch onto the Phantom's hand in desperation. When she finally gave up on trying to memorize her way for chance of an escape, Celine succumbed to the wonderful bliss of ignorance. After what seemed like hours, a faint hazy glow could be seen in the distance.

Stepping into the light, the girl gasped.

Before her stood several book cases reaching nearly to the top of the cavern. Volume upon volume of various books lined these shelves, a statement of the wealth of knowledge this Phantom had. Walking through the room, she noticed titles of poetry, geography, mathmatics, and many foreign languages. It boggled her mind, causing the ballerina to gaze up at her captor in shock.

He chuckled, a deep, soothing sound, and motioned towards a pair of lounge chairs set before a fireplace.

"Sit," he commanded softly, though it was still an order.

Obediantely, Celine sat, her tiny hands folded together atop her lap. Crouching down before the fire, the Opera Ghost lit the large pieces of dried wood and stoked them to a healthy flame. Straightening back up, he stalked over towards the unoccupied seat and gracefully sank into the plush chair.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

Well, he had a girl now. Willingly, or as willing as one could be for him. Sure, he had to threaten her friends, but she would still lay with him. It was what he wanted, right? Pleasure?

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

He couldn't do it!

**Of course you can,** said that annoying voice in the back of his head. **Just force yourself on her.**

_I am no rapist!_

**No? What is that small crime to murder...kidnapping?**

_It's different...This is different._

**Really? How so? She's here, now. Take her while you can. Keep her until you get sick of her. Then dispose of her, like you would any other stranger.**

Inwardly, the Phantom blanched. Dispose of her? _Dispose!_ But...this wasn't what he wanted! He wanted love, acceptance!

He nearly slapped himself at his idiocy. _Kidnapping?_ He kidnapped this poor child, expecting her to love him.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. Returning her would only add to his troubles. What would she..._they_...say?

Then how was he supposed to solve this problem!

Seduce her!

Get her to love him?

He paused. Love, an emotion unknown to him. His mother...wicked, deceitful, beautiful woman that she was, never had the courage to care for him in such a way. The closest thing to a gift he had gotten from her was a mask. The only contact she allowed was when a whip or board beat his hide.

So then, what exactly was love? It could mean the intiment moments between a man and a woman. Of course, it could also mean something else. He had seen the looks in couples' eyes as they filed into his theatre; glancing at each other, blushing when they made eye contact, smiling genuinly with the mere brush of hands.

That was what he wanted.

A love of the most exquisite kind. The type of caring where the mere company of the other was enough to fulfill one's life. When the feelings and emotions one has for their love is enough to make one cry. But not tears of sorrow, as he had always known them to be. Not the salty trails of pain, when that bitter, disgusting taste fills your mouth, threatening to make you wretch. But tears of joy. Of complete and utter happiness; a taste so sweet he would kill to indulge in it just once.

Steepling his fingers across his brow, the Phantom sighed silently. Yet still, his musings did nothing to solve his problem. What was he to do with the girl?

The sound of shifting fabric came to his ears, followed by a nearly incoherant sigh. It was a strangled noise, as if the source of such misery were holding back their sobs. He glanced up, beautiful golden eyes staring straight back into the gaze of the little ballerina. _They hold so much fear,_ he noted absently. _And so much...sorrow_.

Sorrow. Fear. Pain and lonliness and bitter regret. Things he could connect with; things he could understand.

"You are...afraid." It was more of a statement then a question.

She mumbled something in reply, which the Opera Ghost took for a 'yes'.

Lifting up from his chair, the Phantom walked slowly over towards the girl, his body towering high above hers like some dark, looming shadow. "Do not be."

Celine just stared at him with her large doe eyes. Do not be afraid? How could he say such a thing! She had been kidnapped! Taken away from everything she had ever known. Her friend's lives depended on her cooperation with this Opera Ghost!

His words were so...final. Spoken in that melodious vioce of his. Beautiful, yet haunting. She wanted to feel comfort, she truly did, but that seemed almost impossible. Celine was afraid. She was, quite simply, terrified of the mysterious ghost hovering mere feet from her seat.

And yet, he seemed so gentle. But he was a monstrous beast. Ugly, murderous, cruel. At least, that's what the stories said...

They were true, weren't they? Sorelli wouldn't lie, would she?

The little ballerina would have shaken her head in confusion, had the Phantom not been staring at her so intently.

His eerie amber gaze locked onto her dark brown eyes. They were so cold at first...like ice in a fire of anger. But something else was there, the further down she looked. It was...sympathy. Pain...sorrow...

...Hope...

The last emotion unnerved her the most. She turned her eyes away, focusing instead on the plush arm of her chair. Thinking she heard a sigh, Celine looked up, only to find herself staring at the Ghost's back. Strong muscles were barely hidden from his form-fitting suit of the darkest ebony.

Funny...she had not noticed him taking off his cloak.

"What do you want with me?" It was the first time in what seemed like ages her tiny voice didn't waver. Fleetingly, she was proud of the accomplishment.

"I thought I had made that clear." His voice was harsher than before, an edge of danger tinting his words.

"N-no..." Her stumble was back. "W-what...w-why did you b-bring m-me here..." His actions were so strange. One moment, he was threatening her life and her innocence. The next, he is acting like a regular gentlemanly host; offering her a seat, asking after her well-being.

"Do not ask foolish questions, child!" He snapped, swirling around to face her in the process.

The motion startled the little ballerina deeper into the softness of the chair. At the moment, she just prayed that seat would eat her whole. "I-I-I..."

"Stop stuttering!"

Silence.

Tears filled Celine's eyes, spilling over and wetting her cheeks. Her body wracked with sobs as she turned her pale face away from the Phantom's dark eyes. Yet still she could feel his gaze burning into her skin. Salt water filled her mouth, choking her throat which, in turn, caused her cries to push out more forcefully.

She couldn't hear him, but she could feel his body heat closing in on her; smell the foreign yet tasteful scent of strange spices that permeated his presence; see the strong, sinewy muscles of his arms come around her form; feel the brush of cold, bony fingers against her cheek.

Celine wanted to relax. Every part of her being was yelling at her to calm down. She couldn't help the racing of her heart, the sound of water rushing through her ears, the flushed look that came to her face.

"Do not cry."

There it was. His voice was dripping honey once again. Oh how she loved the sound of his soothing words! Each syllable, each vowel, each rise of a word sounded like carefully practiced music.

She couldn't help her next reaction.

Celine melted into his arms.

He hugged her to him, then. Gravity seemed to do the rest as they sank to the floor together. The Phantom cradled the girl against his chest, her tiny, muscular legs tucked into his lap. His arms felt awkard around her waist, but he held them there, nonetheless. Long, thin fingers stroked her hair and her back.

Hands of a musician.

Hands of a murderer.

...And now, hands of a comforter.

As Celine's sobs died down, she found herself still leaning up against the Opera Ghost. He had kidnapped her, and now she was satisfied being held in his arms! How delusional could she get? She needed comfort, though. From someone! She couldn't just be alone in her pain, it would drive her mad!

Despite the argument bewteen her head and her heart, Celine's body decided the battle for her. She was tired, barely able to lift an arm from all the excitement on top of grueling practice in the corps earlier that day. Her stomach growled angrily, reminding her that she had yet to have breakfast.

"Hungry?" asked the Phantom, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. It was the first time Celine had ever heard such an emotion comeing from him. It encouraged her.

Encouraged her enough to ask a question.

"What is your name?"

He had been lifting up from the ground, pulling her along, when she asked it. The words stopped him dead in his tracks for a moment, hands still resting atop the girl's waist.

But the time only lasted a moment. The Opera Ghost released the little ballerina and turned his back on her.

"I'll get you something to eat."

And then he walked off.


	15. The Journal

**A/N: Well, here's another chapter. I know, it took me a while, but at least I got it up. I'm hoping to be updating a lot quicker through the summer, now that school's ended. The poem used in this was written by me, though I think it was actually pieces of other poems put together. I can't really remember. Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review!**

* * *

15

The Journal

The Opera Ghost stepped through a passageway, leaving the little ballerina alone to her thoughts. Hissing and crackling, the fire cast eerie shadows on the stone walls, monstrous figures dancing a wild, untamed dance. Mesmerized by their movements, Celine stared at the orange and red flames, contemplating her situation.

She was the Phantom of the Opera's prisoner.

A piece of wood split under the weight of the fire, intense heat mercilessly burning it's dry skin.

He was a madman.

Glowing embers seemed to stare at her through the dust and ash, their eyes a silent mockery to her situation.

He was both gentle and cruel in turns.

A sigh escaped her lips as the little ballerina turned from the fireplace and shifted to face the bookshelves. Tilting her head upwards, she began to count the number of books her captor had. By the time she reached one hundred, her eyes burned from the effort and she gave up her pointless task. Striding towards the closest shelf, Celine picked up a random book and set herself down on one of the chairs.

The cover was worn leather, a strip of frayed rope used to tie the book closed. It smelled of candles and exotic spices, with the faint scent of sweat and dirt hiding just under the overlapping stench. The pages were yellowed and crinkled, jutting out from the book at odd angles, and it was bound quite crudely with thick string. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was a journal.

Glancing from side to side to make sure the Phantom wasn't watching, Celine undid the rope clasp and carefully opened the book. She nearly gasped in surprise at what she found inside.

The first page was an exquisite drawing of one of the most beautiful houses she had ever seen. It was actually less of a house and more of a castle. It was a frontal view, done in pen and watercolor, and the details were breathtaking. The house itself was made of stone, a brick driveway circling around the front. A marble statue of a man and a woman in a loving embrace, water shooting out of their clasped hands which raised high above them, stood in the center of it. At least a hundred windows - each with a different design or picture stained on the glass - faced the front yard alone. Grimacing gargoyles stood on pillars placed at intervals in front of the building, and angels stood on the roof, reaching towards the heavens.

Celine turned the page.

It was the same building, only this view focused mainly on the roof. The angels from before were still visible, only this time you could see that each one was different. Some had wings spread out, as if ready to take flight, others kneeled in reverence. Two angels seemed to be in the middle of a duel, their fiery swords inches from clashing together in a furious blow. And each one of them had a different face, a different expression. One showed sorrow, stone tears falling down his face. Another, peace; it's eyes holding complete serenity in their gaze.

Touching the picture lightly, the little ballerina could barely believe something so magnificent could even be drawn. The next page, however, had even more wonders to behold.

The back of the house could be seen in the distance, a blot of gray as out of place in the depicted sunrise as a hungry wolf with a flock of sheep. Though, in this particular picture, the building wasn't the center of focus. Stretched before the viewer's eye was a magnificent, flowering garden. Lilies floated lazily in scattered ponds, marigolds blossomed like wildfire. Tulips, and lilacs, and baby's breath, and hundred of other flowers Celine had never seen before filled up the entire page. The miraculous thing: They were all held within a winding green maze. At the center of the maze, the garden's pride and joy, this picture's crowning glory, was the rose garden. A wooden bench sat under the shade of a willow tree in the clearing, a fountain of crystal clear water gurgled and bubbled a few feet away. Surrounding the small space was an array of every color rose imaginable. From red, to yellow, to white, to pink, and even black, luscious, full roses blossomed in every direction. The fountain reflected each color where all the different shades of rose petals had fallen into the water through the guidance of the wind.

It was beautiful. Utterly beautiful.

The little ballerina gazed at the picture in awe and longing, a small sigh escaping her lips as she turned the page.

There, she found an assortment of different writings scribbled in a messy print. From dimensions to poetry, mathematical equations to fiction, scientific reasoning to philosophical ranting, every page was filled with something different.

And, in a moment of utter shock and fear, Celine realized she had stumbled upon the Opera Ghost's journal.

Glancing from side to side, the girl checked for any signs of the ghost.

He wasn't there, and temptation was too strong. Burying herself in the book, the ballerina was determined to come out of this investigation a little more knowledgeable about the Opera Populaire's resident ghost.

__

Deeper Meaning

The sun is bright when the first bud opes;

When the wind stirs soft and the river flows

Like a stream of glass, and a private breeze

Swirls around the warm summer days;

What the caged bird feels and the caged bird sings,

Is infused with the shades of deeper meaning.

When he beats his wing, warned that he hadn't tried,

And his blood is red on the cruel, leering bars;

When his voice slides in, curving through and over his words,

It is not a carol of joy or glee,

For what the caged bird feels and the caged bird sings,

Is infused with the shades of deeper meaning.

Were there notes, music, lined on the bars?

For his sounds cascaded gently!

I hadn't really heard, heard to understand, a single word-

The essence escaped but its aura remained;

What the caged bird feels and the caged bird sings,

Is infused with the shades of deeper meaning.

"It was the worst of times," his voice sang;

"It was the best of times," I heard.

It is not a carol of joy or glee,

But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings-

For what the caged bird feels and the caged bird sings,

Is infused with the shades of deeper meaning.

The first thing she read was a poem. It confused her, seemed to hold double meanings, but it fit the masked man somehow. The next page held an actual journal entry, and Celine held her breath in anticipation.

April 6, 1870

Fear. Why can it be so weakening and yet so empowering? I don't understand this life. I don't understand this pain. This hatred. This face -

"What," The Phantom said with venom, his form towering over Celine darkly. "Do you think you're doing." The tray in his hand dropped with a harsh clatter on the small table beside the girl. Gasping in surprise, the ballerina snapped the book shut and twisted around to see her captor directly behind her, a fiery fury burning in his eyes. His fists were clenched, and she could easily tell it took great effort for him not to strike her then and there.

"I trusted you," he whispered calmly, advancing on the girl. Celine, in turn, stepped backwards, stumbling as she went. Her brown doe eyes were wide and pleading, the words of her regret at the tip of her tongue, though she was too afraid to utter a sound.

"For _ten minutes_ I trusted you." The Phantom took another step, his voice rising and the deadly look in his eyes making her very soul wither like a dying flower.

"And where has trust landed me?" He stopped then, inches from Celine's face. She hadn't even realized she had closed her eyes, though when she felt the solid wall behind her and heard his angry words before her, it must have been natural to do so. His breathing was ragged, like he had been running for a long time, though she knew he hadn't.

He left the question unanswered as he backed off the girl, retreating to the other side of the room.

"Eat," the ghost growled angrily, gesturing roughly towards the tray on the table, laden with exotic foods the ballerina had never before seen in her life.

But her stomach was flipping in fear, twisting in anxiety. It felt like a lump had lodged itself in her throat, and somehow she realized it was the sobs she had held back from moments before. Not sobs of fear for her own safety. Sobs for the words he spoke. She had betrayed him, and, even though he was a murderous kidnapper, it seemed like something utterly, completely wrong. She had committed one of the most vile, heinous acts she could ever commit. Destroying the trust of a man who needed it so much.

"I-I'm not r-really h-hunr -"

"EAT!" he interrupted with blind fury.

She gulped, and walked timidly over towards the table. Picking up a vegetable-looking item (though she couldn't really be sure), Celine sniffed it, then put it to her lips, taking the tiniest of bites. She chewed too much, and swallowed it down with the look of a man who had just been asked to eat his own toe.

She couldn't do this. With her conscious shouting at her for what she had done, the little ballerina just couldn't stand to eat anything at the moment. The girl sighed loudly, and sat back down on the chair. Her hands rested gently in her lap, and her head stared down at her feet.

"I was scared, too," she whispered, though it was just loud enough for the Phantom to hear. Celine glanced at him, but his back was turned to her, and she couldn't tell his reaction.

"I still am. It's...it's frightening, to find out you're all alone in this world. I...I lost my father a few years ago. I came here, to the Opera, as an orphan." When she looked up this time, she saw him shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, but continued on.

"The other girls...they just didn't understand. I was scared...they thought I was shy, or that I had always been this way. My father...I loved him, and when he was gone, I felt like I had no one left to protect me from the harsh realities of this world. In truth, I didn't. It was either this, or the brothels. I was only sixteen.

"And it is a scary thought. Realizing you have no one to hold you...when you want to cry. That life's tough, and you just have to get over it, but...but there's this emptiness inside...this longing..." By now tears had begun to stain her cheeks. They fell in steady streams, leaving light red trails in their wake.

The Opera Ghost turned towards the girl, looking at her curiously, watching as she wiped at her salty tears with a sort of pitiful fury.

"...And you just can't seem to get rid of it. The fear, that is." Celine looked up, and saw his amber eyes burning into her. But for once they didn't sting like a fire. For once, they were kind, and caring, and...warm.

She continued, her eyes looking into his, her heart pouring out to him, begging forgiveness for the stupid mistake she had made earlier.

"The fear that you can never be what you once were. And it's not even that your afraid of change. You're afraid of being afraid. Scared of the possibility of fear seizing you and ending your life, though somehow you knew it had ended already."

Her words started to come out in sobs now, and she seemed to be choking on her owns tears. The Phantom moved closer towards the girl and leaned down, embracing her and giving her as much comfort as he could possibly muster.

"...and...and..."

"Shh..." he whispered in her ear, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. "Don't speak. It's alright."

After a few moments of this, she pulled back from him slightly to look him in the eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, gazing at him intently. A few stray tears still escaped.

"You're forgiven, Celine. Now eat." His voice was gentle, soothing, and as smooth as a song.

She nodded her head numbly and nibbled on the array of food on the platter, not really paying any attention to what she ate.

The Phantom watched her the whole time, silent and unmoving, kneeling in front of her like some black-clad guardian.

And, in some odd way, Celine viewed him as such.


	16. The Calvary

**AN: Ahem...ummm...don't kill me for being so late with this chapter! For the longest time, I couldn't think of a thing to write about, but I realized the update was taking a ridiculously long amount of time, so...well...here we are. It's definitely not my best chapter, but it's not exactly a filler either. A bit of a plot coming in, a bit of suspense here and there. I've decided to just keep writing and update as much as possible. Forcing your muse can be a great learning experience! Well...thank you to my wonderfully faithful reviewers and...don't abandon me yet!**

**Kodu**

* * *

16

The Calvary

Amy blinked, her glowing green eyes wide in shock, mouth agape.

"No..." she whispered, her voice a dying breath on the shouts that went up throughout the entire room.

High-pitched voices debated on the realities of what had just happened while despairing individuals took to weeping for the little girl they had never seemed to like before. Sunlight flooded through the grimy old window, mocking the girls with it's thoughtless cheer. How can something so horrible happen on such a beautiful day? I suppose that's what stung the most. The fact that, even though someone's life had veritably ended, the world still went round. That the tears of one girl, or a dozen, did nothing to change the circumstances fate had thrown their way.

How meaningless they all were, sitting there, crying out for a face that would never be remembered, a name that would never be revered. Life seemed to have this funny way of stabbing you in the back; biting you when you fed it, hating you when you loved it.

"...Celine..." Leah mumbled brokenly, tears in her eyes.

La Sorelli jumped up from her position on the cot, breathing in deeply. She scratched absently at the red marks lining her neck - wounds from her own nails - and grinned.

"Better her than me," she whispered, causing the room to go silent.

"Take that back," Amy growled dangerously, slitting her eyes and clenching her fists.

"Well," the ballerina said. "It's true! I mean, she wasn't that good of a dancer, and it's not like anyone is going to miss her -"

"Take. That. Back." The green-eyed girl slowly advanced on Sorelli, her breathing ragged. Celine had been innocent. A sweet, frightened girl who did nothing to deserve the fate that had befallen her. Her sudden show of bravery - if very ignorant -, had been surprising, to say the least. To have her wavering smile ripped from the _corps de ballet's_ presence was a cruel turn of events.

Sorelli merely snorted, crossing her pale arms over her chest and turning up her nose. "I am La Sorelli, the leading dancer, the Prima Ballerina, and no little rat is going to tell me what to do."

The room was silent. Nothing - not even the scuffle of nervous feet - could be heard. It was like the little dormitory had been separated from the world around it. About this time, Madame Giry would have come in, demanding the girls to rise and prepare for a strenuous day of work, but she was no where in sight. Stagehands were usually heard bustling around the scenes, working on some sort of set, or at least singing obnoxiously loud songs while drinking themselves into a blissful stupor. But there was nothing.

Then, suddenly, out of the eerie calm came a devil's shriek.

"_Mon Dieu_, take that back or I will rip your heart out!" Amy moved to lunge, but was stopped by the sound of a resounding slap.

Leah - hand stretched foreword and turning a slight shade of red from the impact of slapping the Prima Ballerina's face - glared angrily at Sorelli. "I hate you, you...you pompous ass!" Then, spitting on the ballerina's shoes, the girl strode out of the room, the creaky wooden door slamming behind her. Kayla lifted up, tossed the girl a chilly glare, and followed.

After a moment, the shock wore off, and the ballerina instead held a incredulous look. "Get. Back. HERE!" She screamed, her voice challenging even that of La Carlotta's hideous tantrums.

Amy smirked and turned towards the door. "Looks like you're losing your authority, Sorelli. If I were you -" But she was cut off by a terrifying shriek just outside the door. Eyes wide, the raven-haired girl strode into the hallway and ran straight into a brick wall. After taking a moment to collect herself, she realized it wasn't a wall, but instead stood a man - no less than six feet tall - just outside the dormitories.

The _girl's_ dormitories, where men weren't supposed to be.

And by the looks of it, he wasn't coming to chat.

"Well, 'ello there, darlin'." His dirt-ridden face twisted into a hideous smile. The slight bit of hair on his chin gave him a gruff, scraggly look, and his beady black eyes did nothing to soften the hardness of his face. Everything about him was dirty; from his stained clothes, to the slimy tone of his voice. Amy shivered unconsciously and tried to take a step back, finding that the door behind her had closed.

_Sorelli_, she thought angrily before turning her attention onto the man once again. "M-monsieur...?"

The smile widened, and the girl flinched. "So polite. I s'pose that's how they raise 'em in the theatre."

"Amy!" Her attention taken away from the ugliness before her, Amy glanced over the man's shoulder to find Kayla in the arms of a particularly frightening looking man. Her blonde hair was spilled halfway over her face, barely hiding the tears that had begun to fall. Her night gown was ripped at the sleeve, and she was trying to her hardest to wrench out of the other's grasp.

"Amy!" she gasped again, striking blue eyes wide in terror. "Run!"

Hesitating no more, the girl twisted towards her left, ready to take off in any direction, when a large, grubby hand stopped her. It clamped down heavily onto her shoulder and held her in place.

"Ah, ah," the man taunted, squeezing her shoulder harshly. "Where do ya' think your goin'?" Pulling her closer, he chuckled darkly. "You're not done 'ere, darlin'."

"Hey," said a voice from behind the man, and he turned abruptly, angry to be interrupted. Looking down, he nearly laughed at finding a pale little girl with white-blonde hair and silver eyes glaring angrily at him. "Let her go," she demanded, still staring into his eyes.

The man couldn't help but chuckle, and while he was distracted, Leah took that opportune moment to kick him sharply between the legs. As he keeled over in pain, she landed another blow to his side, causing the man to roll over in agony. Grabbing Amy's hand, the girl pulled her down the corridor, looking for an escape.

Meanwhile, Kayla bit and kicked with all her might, trying to wrench free from the man holding onto her. He had pulled her down a rarely-used hallway with some difficulty, and was now attempting to shut her up.

"I swear, if you don't shut the hell up, I'm gonna' kill you!"

Relentless in her struggle, the blond ballerina squirmed even more in the other's grasp. "Let...go...of...me!" Between each word, she took in great gulps of air, as the man holding her began squeezing tightly, hoping to wear her down. Finally, she landed a blow on his kneecap, and found herself released from his grasp. Taking no time to celebrate, Kayla jumped up and darted off. She didn't get far before an arm wrapped around her torso and dragged her to the ground. Tears had already stained her cheeks, but now they fell with greater force.

Furious now, the man grabbed a fistful of hair and twisted it around his hand in harsh movements. "I'm...gonna...teach you...a lesson!" With each pause, he rapped her head sharply - roughly - against the ground, causing a slight trickle of blood to slide down her forehead. His fingers gripped her throat and began squeezing the life out of her, Kayla whimpering in pain.

"Get your hands off of her," a voice whispered dangerously, and a strange clicking noise was heard.

Before Kayla slipped into the realm of blissful unconsciousness, she heard the sound of a gunshot, and felt the sticky warmth of blood splatter against her face.

* * *

It was loud. 

Sure, he lived in an underground cave, but he could still hear what was going on above. He didn't know what it was at first, and as he held onto the weeping Celine, he didn't really have the urge to go and find out. But he had to now. A gun had fired. A fight was going on...in _his_ theatre!

Reluctantly, the Phantom released the little dancer from his comforting arms, and lifted gracefully from the ground. Celine had heard too, and her sobs stopped immediately at the idea of a new threat.

"W-what was that?" she whispered. The Opera Ghost found he was getting used to her stutter, because it didn't bother him was much as it had before. Holding out a hand, he lifted the girl to her feet and turned his attention back to the commotion upstairs.

"I don't know," he answered slowly, amber eyes locked on the ceiling above. "But if it's what I think it is..." he shuddered, and grabbed his cloak from the chair it had been sitting on. "Stay here," was his command before disappearing into the darkness of the underground.

As he made his way back to the world of the living, the Phantom couldn't help but grimace at the ideas running through his head. He had been hearing so much lately about a peasant uprising. Of course, the matters of men rarely applied to himself, but this case was an exception. He had a duty to this opera house, a responsibility to the people inside of it. He might have been the resident Phantom - terrorizing in every sense of the word - but that didn't mean he was going to stand by and let his home be massacred by the Parisian lower-class idiots.

Winding through the secret passages, the Opera Ghost could hear all kind of horrors being played out in his theatre. Smashing, breaking, yelling, screaming. Gunshots every now and then would ring loudly in his ears; some as far as the other side of the building, some as close as the thin wall separating him and the next room. But he couldn't let those things distract him right now. He had a destination: the ballet dormitories.

For all the trouble he had put those girls through, the least he owed them was his protection.

That is, if he wasn't too late...

* * *

They were still running, looking for a place to hide out as chaos erupted around them. Leah held tightly to Amy's hand - more for the sake of quelling her own fears than comforting the other girl - as they slipped from room to room. Many times, they were almost caught again, just narrowly missing another encounter like before. Their breaths were ragged as they slowed their steps and strode lightly down a familiar corridor. Their adrenaline was pumping, and they had been running for what seemed like thirty minutes, though was probably about ten. 

Amy sighed as she glared almost angrily at the door before them. It seemed their feet had led them to the only safe haven they knew of: the ballet dormitories. Praying that is still was, in fact, safe, Amy pushed on the wooden door (It didn't lock, unfortunately.) and stepped inside.

"About time you two got here," came a harsh whisper from under one of the beds. Leah ducked her head to find La Sorelli huddled against the floor, and had to stifle a giggle. The Prima Ballerina saw her features, however, and scowled angrily.

"You won't be laughing when those men come back and rape you!"

That single statement sobered the mood. Looking around, Amy noticed that all the other girls had found shelter under their cots as well. There was no more room, though, and Amy and Leah would have to settle for a more open shelter. Dashing towards the darkest corner in the room, both girls pressed tight against each other and tried to make themselves as small as possible.

"I'm frightened," whispered Leah, looking to Amy for reassurance.

Sighing, the black-haired girl merely shook her head and stared at the floor. "We all are, Amy. We all are."

Suddenly, the wall behind her gave way, and both girls went tumbling into the darkness behind them with a loud gasp.

Blinking, Amy found herself laying across the impeccably tasteful shoes of the Phantom of the Opera. A bright blush graced her cheeks, and she lifted up as quickly as she could, the shocked look in her eyes easily read.

Leah landed on the other shoe and blushed brightly. Her mind, however, was more scattered than Amy's, and she continued to lay on it, too paralyzed with disbelief to move.

Clearing his throat, the black-clad figure smirked. "I know the view from down there must be immaculate, but I realize my shoe isn't all that comfortable. Mind sitting up, dear?"

Leah's blush deepened, and she shot up abruptly, turning her head away so the Phantom couldn't see. The room broke out into startled gasps, and the Opera Ghost had to hold back rolling his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" hissed Amy, a little more harshly than she meant to.

Blinking, the Phantom ignored her question and stepped over the girl, his flowing black cape dragging against her body. The raven-haired ballerina shuddered at the feel of such silky softness brushing against her arms. Oddly enough, she felt secure just sitting near to him. _I suppose, when things get chaotic, the Opera Ghost isn't too much of a nuisance..._ the girl thought shyly.

"What's going on?" Leah asked the man above her, innocent gray eyes piercing into his own amber orbs.

Turning his attention to the girl, the black-garbed specter crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

"A peasant uprising. The theatre is being destroyed...for no good reason." That last part came as a hiss, the man's eyes slitting dangerously at the thought of his opera house being ravaged so. As he continued, his voice took on a more gentle tone.

"I'm here to help you. Whoever wants safety, follow me..." With that, the Phantom swished his cloak and ducked back into the darkness. It would have been impossible to see him, had his amber eyes not shone so fiercely in the inky blackness.

"How can we trust you!" Amy had to force her voice into a calm tone, but her green orbs were shooting daggers. "You kidnapped Celine - _and me!_ - and now you expect us to trust you? What do you take us for, Monsieur Phantom? Fools?"

Growling, the Opera Ghost closed his eyes for a moment before glaring back at the girl with equal anger. "No, mademoiselle. I assumed you had common sense, though I might have been incorrect in my assumptions. Who knows this theatre better than anyone else? _Me_. Who can protect you if a fight breaks out? _I can_." Then, with a smirk to his voice, he added, "If you want to live, you will have to become a ghost. Unseen, and unheard."

He held out his hand and beckoned the girls foreword. "Trust me...if you want to see another day."

Amy still held back, glancing around nervously at the others. No one moved, and for a long moment, an awkward silence invaded everyone's senses. Finally, after what seemed like a millennia, Leah stepped forth into the darkness, her tiny body trembling in fear.

"I-I trust you..." Her voice screamed otherwise, but her actions were brave enough. Looking out at the others, she pleaded with them to follow; to live.

"Anyone else?" came the Phantom's smooth voice. It carried throughout the room, and caused shivers to go down the _corps de ballet's_ spines.

No one moved, and he sighed. "Alright then. But know this: I am no longer watching you, and it is your opinion whether that is a good or bad thing." Grasping Leah's shaking hand, he made to turn around when Amy's voice stopped him.

"Wait!" she said, and the Opera Ghost couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew she would follow him; it was just a matter of time. Her voice, though was dripping with fear.

"Where is Kayla?"


End file.
